


The Empty Room

by scurvaliciousbay



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, it's very fluffy, my introduction to fey's little circle!, serahlin and adannar's big debuts!, super sweet, the history! the old writing!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 18:57:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16838467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scurvaliciousbay/pseuds/scurvaliciousbay
Summary: Takes place in Feynite's ancient Elvhenan! Servants of Sylaise, Serahlin and Adannar, work through deciding to have a baby. But will having a baby be as easy as they thought? Absolutely cute and fluffy!





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please read Feynite's Looking Glass and assorted AU's! She's wonderful!

After the great hair piece mishap, Tasallir needs a new stylist since his old one can no longer be trusted to follow current trends. And it is with great honor and surprise that he asks for Serahlin. She is working for another of Sylaise’s attendants at the time and apparently her work has impressed Tasallir enough that he requests her transfer.

The first day she begins her new position, she is terrified. But she steels herself and researches well, meditating and consulting her various charts and even servants on the appropriate trends for the day. It comes to her like a faint scent of flowers in the wind.

Raspberry and crème, with delicate rose gold jewelry.

Sylaise smiles at Tasallir that day and she is praised beyond measure.

Her styles are not always received with smiles of course, but after a century of serving Tasallir and Sylaise, there has yet to be a frown due to her styling choices. It is…immensely gratifying, if a bit strenuous and nerve wrecking, work. But she does her work well and with pride. And in truth, styling Tasallir is a dream come true. He is like a doll in his perfection and wonderfully malleable, fitting perfectly in whatever clothes she had selected for him that day.

Her day follows a certain pattern after awhile. She wakes at ten, and spends the time dressing herself and researching what trends she should style Tasallir in. He wakes at midnight and so begins her routine of bringing in several selections for him. He selects one, she advises on all manner of adornments, from his hair to his hands and even ankles when the trends call for it. Once he is styled and has been suitably fed (not overly much since he is expected to eat breakfast with Sylaise of course, but not too little so as he to faint or become overly grumpy), he goes to tend his duties of waking and dressing Sylaise. After his breakfast with Sylaise, he must change his clothing once more to be more suitable for the errands and free time he has once he is dismissed. This means that she is usually dismissed around nine in the morning.

Her work is long, and tiresome, but so very, very rewarding.

After she is dismissed from her duties, she returns to her humble estate and slowly divests herself of her finery so that she may soak in her private bath. But today is different.

The normally quiet estate has a charged energy to it, and there are…pieces askew. She slowly makes her through her home, picking up a fallen statue here and there, righting the tilt of a portrait there, and wonders exactly what is going on.

Her answer comes with a door banging open loudly and a man striding joyfully towards her.

“Vhenan, what is all this ruckus?” She asks. Her answer comes in the form of him suddenly picking her up and twirling her. She lets out a small noise of surprise and her hands fly up to the intricate and precarious hair style she wearing.

“One of our Lady’s evening attendants has commissioned me! She saw my work in passing at the market the other evening and I just received word that she would like a custom made necklace, headpiece, earrings – the works!” Adannar says excitedly, finally setting her down. His hair is askew and his robes are off in color by an entire hue, but she smiles at her beloved all the same, throwing her arms around in unrestrained joy. She kisses his cheek and then his lips.

“Vhenan! That is wonderful news!” He twirls her around once more, smiling into her now mussed up-do.

With the commission and the very public display of Adannar’s talent, he quickly rises in rank and it is not before long that Serahlin is bringing his work with her to help style Tasallir. He wears the jewelry perfectly, of course, and Sylaise even compliments an earring one day.

With the newly found acclaim and money, Serahlin and Adannar are able to finish furnishing and decorating their home. What is even better is that she can now properly dress Adannar to show his rank. She can finally dress him in the shades she had been dying to for six centuries now.

Now when they venture out into public, they actually _look_ the part of an upper class power couple. It brings her immeasurable joy that she can now actually show off her beautiful vhenan. There are envious looks wherever they go and she practically preens in attention.

Another century flies by, full of happiness and love and beauty. They fill their home with various pieces of art – a sculpture here, a painting there. Anything and everything beautiful is welcomed in their home.

Roughly two centuries after the life-changing commission, Adannar brings home a wall-mounted sculptural piece.

“This would go nicely in the spare room,” he says, carting it off. Serahlin sighs and follows him down the hall and into the room that is quickly becoming a little too full. She looks around, trying to see the viable wall space in the room and finds herself actually frowning.

“I don’t like it in here…and I don’t like this…or this,” and she begins to remove piece after piece from the room, quickly finding that every single one them is horribly inappropriate for the space.

“Darling, what exactly do you wish for the space?” Adannar asks as she removes yet another tapestry.

“I…don’t know, but none of this works. It must go.”

“And to where exactly?”

She pauses for a moment, “What about your friend, Belaste? It seems like they could use a little beauty in that hovel of theirs.”

“That is hardly fair, it is not exactly uncommon for an attendant to lose favor with our lady.” Adannar protests but she merely shrugs and continues her war on the room.

Nothing…fits in the room. Not the painting of violet hills. Not the gravity defying gold sculpture of a rare flower. Not the tapestry of an ancient Keeper. It is all wrong.

By the time she is finished, the room is bare but she doesn’t feel better. It is simply a naked room now, with nothing in it, doing nothing, containing no beauty…it is nothing. She stares at the room with narrowed eyes and an uneasiness in her stomach that she cannot place.

How annoying.

Adannar volunteers to move everything out to the workshop where he will figure out what do with it later, and bids her bathe. She is quick to agree and heads to their private bath. The water is hot and welcoming, smelling of sweet fruits as she sinks in.

Maybe this is the beginning of a wave of minimalism? Perhaps she will attack the rest of their home in the same fashion, divesting it of all unnecessary odds and ends. Perhaps they have been too indiscriminate with their purchasing of art.

But she doesn’t attack the other rooms the next day, or the day after that. And she finds herself still being drawn to similar pieces when she visits the artisan district.

A week later and she returns to the room and narrows her eyes at it.

This is ridiculous. She of all people should know what is bothering her about the style of the room, but the problem yet evades her.

She hires seven interior designers, none of whom have anything productive at all to suggest for the room. They already have a guestroom. Adannar has a workshop, and the veranda is her preferred place to sketch her designs. Her closet is surprisingly big enough, and no, she does not need a live in makeup artist, that is entirely too excessive for her station.

The room ends up distracting her at work and she makes a mistake in dressing Tasallir. She pairs a white gold with a yellow gold and gets to experience Tasallir’s sincere disappointment first hand. It is not pleasant.

She returns home and glares angrily at the room as she passes it. Damn thing is causing her issues everywhere and she doesn’t even know why.

She sinks back in the tub and lets her tight rein on her emotions loosen so that all of her frustration, disappointment, and embarrassment fill the room in a chaotic cloud. She feels petulant and irate and dammit what is wrong with everything?

Adannar of course chooses that moment to walk into the room. Serahlin automatically sucks in all of her less attractive emotions and he tsks his tongue in response.

“You know you don’t have to do that around me,” he begins to carefully remove his robes and she sinks more fully into the tub.

“Habit,” she whispers, letting her emotions out just a little bit.

“There it is.” He slips into the bath and moves so that she is leaning against him. He weaves his hands into her hair to massage her scalp and she closes her eyes.

“So, what is the issue?”

“Mm, it’s that room. I can’t find anything fitting for it, nothing seems right. I keep thinking about it and it distracted me at work. Tasallir was…displeased.” She leans more fully into him.

“Ah, well, we all stumble, and he knows your worth. I wouldn’t worry.”

“He fired my predecessor over a hat,” she grumbles.

“Well…he is a fool if he is even considering firing you.” He kisses her cheek and shifts in the water so she is leaning more fully against his body. He leans in to nip at her ear and she giggles at the sensation.

“I know what’ll cheer you up…” he growls suggestively. She purrs and wiggles against him.

“Yes?”

“A…brand new set of bangles!” He says brightly, floating a beautiful set of bangles over from his robes. She gasps and lurches up at them.

“Adannar!” She squeals, taking them down from the air. “They’re beautiful!”

“Their sheen changes based on what you’re wearing.”

“Oh Adannar, they’re perfect,” she cups his face and kisses him long and lovingly. “Just as you are.”

Several more days pass and the room slowly drifts out of her mind and she falls into a regular rhythm that is only interrupted by the occasional party thrown by her lady or one of her people.

It is months later when she walks through one of the great gardens in her lady’s palace that she sees a brilliantly colored bird fly to a nest where a much plainer bird awaits. Curious, she approaches slowly and quietly and watches in wonder as one of the eggs in the nest begins to move and eventually crack. A small, ugly little bird emerges wet and sticky from the egg but she places her hand over her heart in sudden emotion and it suddenly makes sense.

It is an empty room, and nothing fits.

She returns home and finds she must make her hands busy lest she fidget with the tassels on her robes. So she sets to measuring the room, and even draws up plans that will fill the room in the way it should be filled. No, not filled…occupied.

Adannar returns for his midday meal and she is waiting for him, sitting in one of her simpler but still radiant dresses.

“Hello, vhenan,” he greets, kissing her happily before taking off his outer robe.

“Adannar, I…sit, please?” She asks in a more serious voice than she had originally intended. Adannar stops and turns slowly to her, cocking his head.

“Is everything all right?”

“Yes, yes, I just…I need to discuss something with you.” He finally takes a seat next to her and nervousness taints the air. She takes his hands reassuringly and takes a deep breath.

“I have discovered why the room has been bothering me.”

“That is good….”

“It is empty, not of beauty, but of life. This house…it needs more life. I…I want more life.” She takes a deep breath to steady herself. She can do this, she is sure he will be happy with the news, it is not a horrible thing after all, to want what she wants.

“Adannar, I wish to have a child. And I want it to be your child.”

He is quiet for a moment and she has difficulty reading his emotions before the biggest smile she has seen on him in a while spreads across his face.

“Are you serious?”

“Of course I am serious, children are no laughing matter!”

He is up and spinning her around in a dancing motion before she can protest anything. He is laughing and happy and she can’t help but laugh and feel happy herself, overwhelmed by his emotions.

He suddenly stops and looks lovingly down at her as he pulls her hand up to his mouth. His lips press against her pulse point and her heart soars.

“Yes, a thousand yesses and then a thousand more, my dear. We shall petition Sylaise as soon as possible.”

A few months later they are standing in front of some of the highest ranking members of Sylaise’s, waiting to hear if there is a definitive verdict on whether their request will be processed or not.

She has an inexplicable urge to fidget with the various rings on her fingers, or maybe adjust one of the pins in her hair, but she remains still and statuesque beside Adannar.

One of the managers flips through their proposal and nods. They then look down at the two elves, examining them. Serahlin finds the inspection to be entirely extraneous, there were already examiners to look at their physical forms to see if they would be suitable for the proposition, there is no need for further examination.

But they look back at the papers and the other managers nod, and one even smiles before rolling up the proposal and sealing it with aqua blue wax.

Her breath catches in her throat.

“Your proposal will be processed in no longer than in five years. Please, return to your stations, and have a pleasant day.” The manager waves them out of the building and the two elves can barely contain their excitement.

In five short years, they will know if they will be allowed to become parents!

The excitement lasts for days and she can’t stop the happiness and joy she feels from leaking out all around her.

“You have been particularly joyful,” Tasallir comments as she styles his hair. It has only been a week since the hearing and she is still beaming from the excitement.

“Yes. Adannar and I are currently petitioning for the allowance to have a child, and the petition has passed preliminary screenings.” She can barely contain herself! But Tasallir is less than thrilled as she sees a muscle tick right below his eye.

“Do you think the child will serve our lady well?” He asks in his overly polite tone.

“Oh, I am sure. We would be lucky if they are half as wonderful as yourself, of course.” She compliments smoothly. He preens slightly at the words but his face remains in that overall displeased look he gets sometimes.

“Naturally.”

Sylaise ends up smiling at him that morning for the large bejeweled collar Serahlin suggests, and yet he remains somewhat colder towards her than normal. For three Thursdays in a row, he cancels their tea time, and he even forgoes one of the runway shows they have seen together every year for the past one hundred and seventy years.

Desperate times call for desperate measures it seems.

She is there waiting for him in his chambers after their lady has dismissed him for the day. She has tea and biscuits and that delightful peach jam that he likes so much. She rises when he enters and they proceed with the normal greetings before he takes a seat.

“Is there a particular reason you invaded my quarters?”

“I need your invaluable advice in planning my time if Adannar and are approved to have a child. You are much more adept at these things than myself, and since you have been terribly busy of late, I figured I would come to you instead of making you come to me.” She then produces charts and her notebook so that she may take the appropriate notes.

Tasallir sniffs but straightens, his long fingers delicately spooning some sugar in his tea.

“This is very true, you have never had the talent for planning such things. You are entirely too whimsical.”

“Exactly. I was thinking that it will be prudent for you to take on another stylist – just in the interim while I am with child and the two years following its birth since I will be sleep deprived and smelling of baby. I do not wish to cloud your air with such offensive airs. We can train this new stylist together, of course.”

“You plan to return to work for me? What if I find this new stylist more to my liking than you?” He asks, sipping his tea. She gives him a polite but pointed smile.

“That is impossible. There is no one in all of Elvhenan like me, and besides, who else can automatically differentiate the difference between aqua and seafoam blue other than us?”

“Not Thenvunin, that is for certain,” he quips and she lets an amused giggle slip.

“Tasallir, never change.”

He looks back at the chart and his brow ticks slightly in curiosity. He touches the blocked out section for Thursday then turns to her.

“What is this?”

“Oh, that is our weekly tea-time. Did you really think a baby would interfere tea with one of my favorite people in the empire?” He graces her with a smile at that. She returns the expression and reaches out to lightly touch his hand.

“You are my very best friend, Tasallir. And a baby will not change that.” He does not immediately recoil from her touch and his smile remains.

“Thank you. And you will make a superbly suitable mother.”

She sighs and feels a wave of untimely anxiety wash over her. “That is if we are allowed.”

“Of course you will be allowed, you are the very people who should be…allowed to contribute to the population.” He sniffs at the idea of her not being allowed and she restrains herself from throwing her arms around him. Such volatile emotions! It seems her love’s enthusiasm and affectionate nature has been wearing off on her in the centuries they have been together.

“You are too kind. Now…there is some other business I would like to bring to your attention.” She picks up another folder and opens it to show him sketches of the looks that took the runway at the show he hissed. His eyes widen in horror and a hand flies to his chest in distress.

“Dire news, _crimson_ of all colors is making a comeback.”

“It is that… _Thenvunin_ and his spouse.”

“I think we can combat it with blush and other pastels and layered silhouettes,” she gives him more sketches and he nods at the layered silhouettes.

“Yes, we must take action _immediately_.”


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvhenan setting, Tasallir, Thenvunin, Uthvir, and Venavismi all belong to Feynite (insinuated Elanna belongs to lycheepit)

Serahlin once again falls into her rhythm after reassuring Tasallir that the baby, if there is to be one, is not going to steal her away from him. And once reassured, he actually proves to be very supportive of the idea of having a mini-Serahlin.

“As much as I like the picture, it may not be a mini-me.” She tells him, “It may be a little Adannar.” He looks vaguely horrified.

In the meantime, they begin plotting the design for the room. They can agree that soft colors are a must, but that is where the agreement ends. He prefers soft teals while she likes a pastel coral will be much more soothing. It is Adannar of all people who finds the brilliant compromise.

“What of an underwater theme with coral and fish? We could commission to have a mural installed,” he suggests. Serahlin beams at her brilliant love, even in his out of season robes.

There are a thousand other details that much be attended to, least of which is constructing all the furniture. Adannar volunteers to oversee all of the construction and the detail work and she is grateful, as stylish and accomplished as she is with dressing people, inanimate objects fail her.

At the end of the second year, the mural is completed and a rocking chair has been placed in the room. They are still far from perfect but her heart swells as it does when she finds a new fabric to bring to her tailor.

The third year begins and Sylaise decides that she wishes to throw a massive ball in the spring – which is very little time to get everything situated. And due to her overall success in styling Tasallir, Serahlin is asked to consult with tailors on the overall styles for the ball. It is a great honor, one that Tasallir encourages her to take.

Adannar is wonderful as always, picking up the slack at home with whatever chores and duties must be accomplished. And with the upcoming ball, both Tasallir and Serahlin’s schedules shift, putting them to work during the entire day instead of just the half. Their days are long and arduous, tending to the many things needing to be overseen.

Tasallir is tasked with monitoring all of the necessary art commissions for the ball. These commissions include a life sized floral arrangement of Sylaise’s draconic form and five gigantic gold rose statues. Meanwhile, Serahlin is on the panel of five other stylists responsible for creating the overall style of the event. She tends to lean towards flowers, particularly one without long stamens, while two of the other stylists are more preferential towards dragon flies. They eventually somehow come up with a compromise of delicate flowers and flower-sized dragons whose wings have a more insect-like quality motifs. It is fantasy born of reality and fitting for the spring time. It not only thrills Sylaise, but intrigues Ghilan’nain as well to the point where Serahlin wonders if they will actually have these miniature dragons at the ball.

And as much as both Tasallir and Serahlin enjoy and revel in their work, it is exhausting and over time their stress begins to show.

She sees the line first on him, and she is entirely too startled and concerned to even think about her own countenance.

“Tasallir,” she whispers so that no one else may hear her.

She leans in close, “There is…a crease line at the corner of your eye.” His eyes widen in horror and his fingers twitch as if to raise and touch the offensive mark. He then looks at her face and the horror grows.

“There is one by your nose!” She squeaks in dismay and it is all she can do to not immediately cover her face in shame.

Serahlin looks around quickly, spying the home of one of the tailors she knows.

“This way!” She hisses and takes Tasallir’s hand as they quickly, but appropriately, make their way to the house. The tailor is of course wondrously forgiving and gives them fashionable veils to wear so they are covered on their way to the luxury bath house.

Once the severity of the issue is explained, they are immediately taken back to begin their cleansing and relaxing.

“I thought these things were just horror stories told by attendants in the lounge!” Serahlin bemoans as one of the workers smears a mask onto her face. It’s sticky and initially unpleasant, but she is assured that it contains healing and rejuvenating magic.

“They were apparently not exaggerating,” Tasallir murmurs from his spot on the recliner next to her.

“Excuse me, ma’am, but…you have to shift to your natural form for the mask to work correctly.” The worker whispers and a mixture of defeat and embarrassment rolls through Serahlin. This is humiliation beyond tolerance. But….

She sighs and turns her face from Tasallir so that he may not see the pitifully dull color of her eyes.

“Tasallir, look away.”

“Do what you must,” he responds as his own worker tells him to let go of his own shifting.

She blinks away the pink, allowing her eyes to revert to their natural grey. The worker then continues their work and once the mask is in place, more workers take up by her hands and feet. Hands are touching and massaging her and she hears a small gasp from Tasallir.

“Are you alright,” she asks. He can get quite overwhelmed by touches, especially by those he does not know, and stress is the opposite of what he needs now. He doesn’t answer her quickly enough to assure her.

“Soak his feet and massage only his hands, then switch. Not all at once,” she instructs. There is a pause and a shuffle as a tub is produced for his feet and calves.

“Thank you,” he whispers and she smiles despite him not being able to see her.

Their treatments go well. The mask is removed and their faces are massaged before they are ushered into private rooms for a full body massage. The lights are dim, and the hands feel so nice on her body, slowly working all of the stress and tension out of her body. The hands are warm, spreading ointments and lotions that soften and rejuvenate her skin. It feels…so nice….

Serahlin falls asleep and wakes some time later to find herself feeling…rather at peace. Calm. She rises from the cot and stretches herself awake. Her attire is hanging in the corner of the room, just waiting for her to don it once more. She takes her time, stepping carefully into her dress, and doing her hair into the neat arrangement she had it in to fit the various pins shaped into halla horns. She does not use the veil as intended, instead she reverses and wraps the entire do in the sheer fabric. Her face is bare, but she surprisingly does not mind, as apparently the masks left behind a golden shimmer to her skin that makes it look like she is glowing. The crease is gone, and she blinks once, twice, reverting back into her preferred pink irises.

She looks perfect. And feels even better.

She emerges from the room to find Tasallir already waiting for her patiently. She nearly gasps at his appearance.

“You look…radiant,” she gushes and he smiles up at her.

“And you are stunning, even without the face paint.” He rises and they make their way to the front where they pay and tip extra well for allowing them essentially occupy their rooms for hours longer than intended.

She kisses Tasallir’s cheek in farewell before heading to her estate. The setting sun hits the rooftops, casting a myriad of colors of the street in beautiful dancing colors and she giggles at the sight. She hasn’t seen this in…how many centuries now? Four?

She arrives at her home and practically floats through the door. She changes out of her formal dress in exchange for something lighter and admittedly more comfortable. Her hair comes down and she emerges from her rooms to see Adannar walking through the hallway, fresh from his workshop. He stops, looks up, and smiles so beautifully at her that her heart aches.

“Vhenan, I was…you were…I…you’re stunning.”

She wraps her arms around him and she kisses him, or he kisses her, she isn’t sure, but all that matters is that they’re kissing, which they really haven’t done enough of in the recent weeks.

“Mmm, let’s practice…for the baby,” she murmurs, eyes flashing with wicked intent. Adannar stalls for a moment before his smile turns a bit lecherous and he is guiding her back into her room.

They make it to spring and the ball is a wild success. Fuller skirts and large shifting floral patterns are the current fashion and Sylaise arrives wearing actually large moving floral designs on her person…and perhaps the three people following behind her. Serahlin herself has a dozen flowers woven into her hair and she managed to weave even more into Tasallir’s thanks to him growing his hair out to his ankles specifically for this event. All of the commissions came through in brilliant fashion and while Ghilan’nain doesn’t show up with mini-dragons, she does arrive in stunning form.

Everything is glittering and shining and so wonderfully happy with all the flowers. Adannar flits about the room, complimenting each and every person’s jewelry, finding all the different works to be equally beautiful. She watches him makes notes on which jewelry makers to compliment and to perhaps work with in the future. Once he has made his rounds, he flutters over to her where he then whisks her away to the dance floor.

Adannar claims five dances from her that night, while Tasallir only takes one. He is not overly fond of dancing, especially when Thenvunin arrives in bright crimson with a plunging neckline. Oh, dear. A certain ire raises in her and she narrows her eyes at him. She went through great lengths to coordinate _all_ of Sylaise’s people in attendance to accomplish the beauty her lady deserves and here comes Thenvunin and Uthvir – dressed brazenly against the fashion.

Indecorous is too tame a word for this.

Thankfully, Tasallir has the appropriate rank to let Thenvunin know exactly how unbecoming the outfit is. There is another of their lady’s people standing off to the side, speaking to a woman from Mythal’s contingent, and he is also improperly dressed.

She is about to walk over and let him know exactly what she thinks of him revealing that much thigh when Adannar suddenly sweeps her away into the garden.

“Your work is done, my dear, Venavismi will wear what he wears, and the rumor is that Sylaise likes what he wears.” He wiggles his eyebrows and she frowns at him.

“What a horrible thing to say.”

“Vhenan, that is not the point.” He continues to guide her out to the garden, away from the grousing Tasallir and the snickering Venavismi. It is quiet, the enchanted flowers glowing in faint pinks and blues in the moonlight.

“Oh? So there is a point to getting me out here…all alone?” She purrs at him. A low rumble emanates from his chest and he leans down close to her face.

“Yes. You are…the most gorgeous adornment in this entire party. More wondrous than the flower dragon and more stunning than any gilded rose.” He presses a kiss to her temple and she melts into him.

“The night is far from over and yet you are tempting me.”

“Is it working?” His arms are around her, lips by her ear and she all at once feels very…interested in how his body feels against hers.

“Perhaps.” She murmurs, lifting her head, seeking his lips with her own. He tastes like sunlight, all bright and warm, with maybe just a hint of lemon from the cake he nibbled on earlier. Her hands trail up his torso and she supposes that maybe, just maybe, a little bit of indecorum is alright.

Adannar ends up carrying Serahlin home, her feet too sore and her soul too tired for her to continue walking. He is careful to undress her, making sure her dress and all of her adornments are stored properly, before wrapping his body around hers while they drift into the Dreaming.

Life returns to something that resembles normal about a month after the ball. Her and Tasallir’s schedules have been properly readjusted and Adannar returns to working on his many commissions.

A few more months pass and then word arrives.

The verdict is in.

Once more they stand before the managers and this time her fingers actual twitch and slightly twist a ring. Adannar slips his hand into hers when he sees the fidget and she holds onto him tight.

“We have reviewed all of the pros and cons and have found very few reasons to not permit you this. Congratulations, you have three years to conceive a child, may it serve the People well.” And then they’re dismissed but she can’t move her feet. Stunned is an accurate word but lesser than the actual emotion coursing through her body.

Adannar picks her up and swings her around, laughing loudly for all to hear.

“We’re going to be parents!” He squeals.

 _We’re going to be parents,_ she thinks. And she smiles as pure joy floods her body. Her arms wrap around Adannar and she laughs openly and freely.

They return back to their home and…set about trying for the child. Several times. All over the estate. Adannar rips her dress at some point but she merely giggles and says that she has an excuse to have a new dress made.

They’re sitting cuddled together in the kitchen when a knock sounds through the estate. Adannar waves his hand to see who his wards are picking up, showing Tasallir standing outside holding a small box.

“Oh!” Serahlin rushes herself, naked and flushed and distinctly smelling of sex, down the hall to her room where she quickly rubs a new lotion onto her body to hopefully mask the pungent odor. She is a bit overly quick with donning a robe, and she only has time to run a comb through her hair before the appropriate time for having a guest wait runs out.

She flings herself back down the hall and opens the door with a polite smile.

“Tasallir, what a surprise.”

He stares at her obvious disarray and his nose twitches.

“I heard the news, and I came to congratulate you.”

“You are too kind, please come in,” she gestures for him to enter and he strides carefully into the space, narrowing his eyes at the slightly out of place furniture and Adannar’s conspicuous absence.

“I see you have wasted no time in,” he waves his hand and his face wrinkles in disgust.

“I am sorry you had to come at such an…inopportune time. We were…that is…celebrating.”

He takes a deep breath and nods, schooling his features once more.

“It…is expected, I suppose that you would be…here, I came to give you this.” He presents the small box to her, white with a shimmering gold bow. She opens it carefully and her heart melts.

Her hand flies to her chest and she sighs.

“Oh Tasallir…” she whispers, moving her hand to reach into the box, touching the soft new baby clothes.

Tears spring into eyes but she holds them back.

“This is…” her words fail her as she looks at the little aqua blue dress with delicate silver stitching.

“How…how did you manage to get this so quickly?” They had only been given the allowance a few hours ago, and while this is a small commission for any tailor, this is still impossibly quick.

Tasallir is quiet for a moment then speaks in a soft, almost embarrassed tone.

“I spoke to a few of the managers when you told me about having the request processed. I knew that it would pass in time and had this made. Unfortunately, this color is completely last season but I hope that its sentimentality is preserved.” She can barely breathe let alone speak.

Adannar suddenly emerges from their rooms and joins Serahlin and Tasallir in the main living room.

“Tasallir! What brings you by?”

“Adannar, look, he…brought us baby clothes,” she shows her vhenan the small offering and Adannar coos in adoration before turning to Tasallir. The wide grin is Tasallir’s only warning before he is engulfed in a hug. Red eyes widen and he freezes in Adannar’s hold.

“Adannar!” Serahlin sets the gift aside and gently pulls Adannar from Tasallir. Her vhenan blushes sheepishly.

“Many apologies, I was overcome. Thank you for the gift.”

Tasallir pauses for a moment, regaining himself as he rights his clothing.

“I am pleased you like the gift, even if your appreciation is expressed in an unexpected manner.”

“Really, thank you. I…I will endeavor to find a gift of this caliber for you.” She says, finding that she too wants to wrap the man in a hug.

“That will not be necessary…but not unwelcome, either.”

She is unsure of what exactly she could procure for him seeing as the value of the baby clothes is not easily replicated. And it is not like he wants for much. It is…immeasurably kind of him to not keep her bound to this standard of reciprocity.

Despite the general disarray of the room and the resident elves, Tasallir stays to have tea with them. He does not stay for long, the day is getting on for both him and Serahlin. Right before he leaves, she takes his hand and squeezes it.

He looks down at their hands then back at her and he gives her a rare smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! <3


	3. Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvhenan setting, Tasallir, Thenvunin, and Uthvir belong to Feynite

Life assumes a new pattern after the news. Wake up, have late night (early morning to her) sex with Adannar, get dressed, go to work, come home, have more sex with Adannar, sleep, and repeat. Except for on the days when she takes tea with Tasallir and on the other days when she goes to the healer to see if she is pregnant yet.

The answer is the same every time: no.

She is assured that this is normal. That getting pregnant takes time. But she hears the other healers in the background gossiping about how quickly Uthvir of all people got pregnant almost right away.

So she and Adannar keep trying. She buys books, they try new positions. But instead of a baby, all she gets is sore and pulled muscles.

She tries acupuncture and discovers she really hates needles.

When she gets impatient, the healer gives her a tea to try to increase their fertility. When that doesn’t work, she gets fertility treatments including taking odd oils and having her body rubbed and primed for housing a baby three times a week.

A year and a half passes and nothing. She is…empty just as the room is. And half their allowed time is gone as well. Anxiety begins to plague her and due to all the herbs and healing, she finds herself less able to control her outbursts. One morning, after dressing Tasallir, she sat down and actually cried for an hour because…well she doesn’t quite know, but she did and it was horrible.

She doesn’t understand why it isn’t working. She has done everything the healers have said. She has even gained weight to encourage growth! She had to endure the sneers at her tailors at the new softer hips and belly that have formed and even Tasallir doubting whether she is fit to continue working with him.

But she fears that if she doesn’t work, she will have more time to sit and stew about not being able to get pregnant.

Adannar is…annoyingly optimistic, and while she loves her joyous heart, he often does not understand her fears and anxieties and the base in them. He sees good everywhere, and that makes it difficult for him to see the real threat of anything not good.

She cries again at tea with Tasallir and he recoils from her. Outbursts upset him and she is generally much more watchful of herself around him, but now…now she is upset, dammit. And if she needs to cry, she will cry.

After a moment he reaches over and pats her shoulder.

“There, there.”

She cries harder.

She is later told that it is in her best interest to take a leave of absence while she goes through this time of transition and happiness.

This is absolutely ridiculous. It is _supposed_ to be happy and joyous, planning for a future with a little baby that is half her and half the love of her life – but it isn’t.

And now she has an inordinate amount of free time on her hands. Fine, if she cannot work, she can at least still be productive.

She first reads multiple accounts of elves who had children, but they are almost exclusively about the child rearing itself and not the getting pregnant part.

She talks to every healer she knows and they all tell her the same things. Have lots of sex, try to be at this fat percentage, limit magic use, meditate, use this herb, and this herb, and this tea, try these needles.

It is infuriating.

After two weeks of research and time alone, she sits in her home and feels the worst emotion yet: self-pity.

 _This is ridiculous,_ she thinks and hauls herself up and into her rooms. She dresses as she did when she was going to work, putting her hair up in a beautiful arrangement and wearing a stunning gown – this one of peals and pink ruffles. She paints her face and an overheard conversation drifts into her head.

_“I wonder why it is taking her so long?”_

_“Have you heard of such a thing? Taking more than a year?”_

_“This is unlike any of the pregnancies I have ever seen.”_

_“You have only seen one!”_

_“Yes, and Uthvir was pregnant within a month of being permitted.”_

Uthvir….

She knows what she must do.

First, Serahlin procures a gift – everyone is more pliable when they are gifted with something. But the former hunter is…regrettably foreign to her. She knows they like Bloodwine and all things spiky, which are now regrettably not easy to come by in Sylaise’s territory. Wait. They are of course fond of their husband, and therefore their husband’s happiness. And while Thenvunin is…a bit off-beat in his fashions, she understands him. She also happens to know of his fondness for birds.

So she makes her way to her lady’s aviary, where a certain bird keeper owes her a favor. As it turns out, they have precisely what she is looking for. It is wrapped then placed in a special box, and then she is off to plan.

She alerts Adannar that she is going to travel to Mythal’s palace the next day, that she has business of the utmost importance there. He agrees, of course, kissing her cheek and wishing her well.

The next day, she dons a similar dress, this one with iridescent ruffles in the skirt and a top made entirely of round opals.

There are stares of envy as she struts through the Crossroads, small box perched delicately in her grasp. The surroundings bend to her, the colors shifting and shaping to fit her ever shifting dress. There are gasps of envy, and some of disgust, but that is to be expected from those who do not know fashion like her.

It is the best she has felt in months.

She strides through the network of eluvians and arrives at Mythal’s palace, asking to where Thenvunin and Uthvir’s rooms are. Once there, Serahlin knocks on the door and waits, little box resting nicely in her hands.

Uthvir answers the door with a curious expression and she returns it with a bright, polite smile.

“Good afternoon, Uthvir.”

“Serahlin…what’s in the box?”

“A gift, nothing nefarious I promise. May I come in?” They eye her for a moment before stepping aside and allowing her to enter.

“Thank you, oh what a…lovely home you have.” There is a tacky rug with ducks on it, but she decides to pretend they’re actually phoenixes which are much more in trend at the moment.

Uthvir crosses their arms and watches her stand out of place in their home.

“Is there a particular reason you’re here?” They droll and while it’s a bit rudely to the point, she is rather grateful she doesn’t have to follow of the rules of decorum her lady sets forth.

“I am in need of information. Information that you possess, do not worry, I will not harm you or those you care for with this information…I doubt if it could in fact hurt them. This is a gift for you…to give to Thenvunin, and I hope that it is a sufficient trade for the information I seek.” She turns to them and holds the box out. They eye it, then arch their brow at her.

“If this is a gift for Thenvunin, shouldn’t you be plying him for this information?”

“No, this is a gift for _you_ to _give_ to Thenvunin. I am sure he will like it and then give you…lots of intercourse if that is what you fancy from him.”

They’re quiet for a moment with…an odd expression on their face, but they take the box and open it slowly.

“An egg.”

“It is from one of Sylaise’s beautiful show birds – they are large, stunning, and even have the ability to change color. They are safeguarded and very few bird keepers in all of Elvhenan have the pleasure of taking care of them. I was able to procure one for Thenvunin.”

Judging from the expression on their face, she supposes she guessed right in the appropriate gift choice.

“And what information do you seek if you are willing to give something so precious to me…to give to Thenvunin?”

Her hands come together in a hold to prevent her from fidgeting and she takes a deep breath.

“How did you get pregnant so quickly?” And she blurts it out. Oh no. Oh, oh…this…oh dear.

Uthvir’s eyebrows raise and something like an amused snort leaves them.

“Well, one two elves love each other very much –

“Oh for – I know about _that!_ Adannar and I… Let me explain.” She huffs and finally gives into adjusting her bracelets.

“Adannar and I were given allowance to conceive a child, a wonderful and joyous thing that we were and are very excited about. But…that declaration was almost two years ago and…well…” she looks down at her flat stomach.

“Ah.”

“I…you are the most recent person to have a child and the books are of no help and the healers are no help, and I just…please, if there is anything that you did to speed up the process, tell me?” She sounds entirely too pleading but perhaps Uthvir understands? Perhaps they will not be overly vindictive of her altered state.

They take a deep breath and shrug, “There is…nothing I can tell you. We had sex, I got pregnant, nine months later, our daughter was born.”

She narrows her eyes.

“Was it blood magic? I will not judge or alert any authorities, I swear, just…tell me!”

“Serahlin, there was no magic. We were actually told that was a bad idea, we just had sex. A lot of it.”

Her eyes widen and she produces her notebook from her bag.

“And what constitutes a lot of sex for you? Two? Three? Four times a day? Did you orgasm every time? And what position were you in, do you think, when you conceived?” She has her pen ready and Uthvir is just staring at her like they can’t believe she really just asked them all of that. She glances down at the box they’re still holding.

“At least three, almost every time, almost always on top – and I am pretty sure I was on top when I conceived. Are we done here or –

“What were you eating at the time?”

“I am fairly certain our bodies are different and that what worked for me may not work for you.” They say. She stops writing and looks at them, feeling the same defeat she did at the healers’ and at the library.

“I want a baby and it’s not like there is an abundance of little ones out in the woods like your darling first child.” First child. She could almost resent them for how easy it was for them to become a parent. She went through all the necessary channels, rose to a proper rank, found a partner before trying anything, and she is unable to conceive one child, while two practically fell into Uthvir’s lap.

But Uthvir is not to blame for her own faults and failures, and she is happy for them to have such a beautiful family.

She puts the notebook away and nods. Her hands tremble slightly and she feels that damnable urge to cry rise within her again. No, she can control this, it is a ridiculous reaction that would only be excusable if she were actually pregnant.

Her breath staggers as she adjusts her clothes to conceal the pouch she is carrying.

Uthvir looks at her for a long moment before setting the box down carefully on the foyer’s table. They angle themselves so that she has to look them in the eye and she supposes that all that sharpness is to show, as their eyes are…beautiful. Stunning even.

“Listen to your body, Serahlin. Do what it asks of you, not what Sylaise’s people tell you what you should do,” They are speaking to her as if she is a child, which is ridiculous, she is three thousand years older than them. She checked. Maybe her age is why she is having such difficulty? The longer you wait to try and have a child, the longer it takes to conceive when you finally decide to have a child?

But their words make sense and she nods her thanks before turning from them and walking to the door.

“Thank you, Uthvir, this…has been very enlightening.” Her long strides take her to the door quickly and Uthvir is right on her heels, opening the door as is polite. They take the box and move to hand it to her.

“This…is really not a fair trade, particularly since I would have given the information if you had simply asked.”

She smiles sadly at them and shakes her head.

“Keep it, it will be put to death otherwise. Give my regards to Thenvunin.” And she leaves them to ponder at the true weight of the gift. She is hopeful that Thenvunin is as…adoptive as the whispers in the aviary made him out to be, the death of such a beautiful creature in such an infantile stage would be tragic.

Her outfit feels dull and lifeless as she strides back through the streets of Arlathan, taking an oddly longer route to leave. She feels listless, unsuccessful, and terribly disappointing for her beloved. She was the one to present the idea of having a child to him, the one who had attacked the spare room and declared that only a child could fill it. She had insisted on planning, considering names, taking time to plan out everything happening.

It…is her fault, then. She jinxed it somehow with her careful planning and her excitement.

Somehow, through the haze of self-deprecating thoughts and emotions, she spies something that she hasn’t properly enjoyed in…two centuries, at least.

A small chocolatier, nestled into a corner on her way back to the Crossroads. She looks up at it and the strangest desire to go in and buy everything overwhelms her.

_Listen to your body._

But it’s fattening.

_Listen. To. Your. Body._

A bell rings as she opens the door and the most heavenly aroma drifts to her nose.

This will wreak havoc on her skin and figure. But in that moment she can’t bring herself to care all that much.

She wants the damn chocolate, so she is getting it.

She buys several pounds, instructing the chocolatier to package everything into an easy to carry satchel.

Upon arriving back at her home, she wastes no time in digging into the satchel, ripping the little papers off and tossing the small morsels into her mouth. She savors the rich flavors and moans in indulgence.

By the time Adannar comes home, she is surrounded by a pile of wrappers in the middle of the floor. She has loosed her hair and there are tear tracks down her face. The pink eyes are gone, and she doesn’t bother in hiding from him. She’s an indecent apathetic mess, overwhelmed with emotion that she is tired of feeling.

His eyes are a bit wide with curiosity but judgement free as he sets his things down and crawls to her spot on the floor. She hands him a chocolate and he peels the wrapper off, tossing it happily into his mouth. He makes several noises of pleasure before pulling her to his side. She sighs and snuggles in, reluctantly grateful for his fondness for very soft clothing.

“I was so inspired by your plan to talk to Uthvir that I went out and found Thenvunin, today,” he says absently, unwrapping another chocolate.

“He recommended several books and wishes us luck…and also told me that with Mythal, that there is a way to extend the allowed time if needed. I then sought out Tasallir and he confirmed what Thenvunin said – we can request two more years if we need. He offered to oversee it if you wish.” His voice is soft and nonchalant as he inspects a new chocolate covered in some odd dust.

Her heart clenches. Dammit.

Fat tears leak out of the corners of her eyes as she looks up at her beautiful, wondrous vhenan. She presses into him more firmly, hugging him close.

“Thank you, my heart.”

“There is just one thing…” his voice trails off and she goes still in his arms.

“Thenvunin wants to meet the child we have.” He says at last and she laughs.

“Of course he can. He has a fine reputation with children.”

They don’t leave the floor for a while. They stay snuggled into each other, each telling the story of how exactly they plied the notorious couple for information. It is Adannar who grows restless on the floor and sweeps her up to carry her into the kitchen where they proceed to dine on cheeses and breads.

She inspects a cracker and declares that she wishes for meat to return to the household. Adannar looks back at her in mild shock, it has not been fashionable amongst Sylaise’s upper crust to consume meats for nearly a century. But she smiles at him and pops a small cube of cheese into her mouth.

_Listen to your body._

She adjusts all of her meals according to what her body has been craving since starting the fertility treatments, and while they scandalize a few, she finds it difficult to care.

Her weight redistributes a bit and she takes up exercising once again, making her body much more comfortable to inhabit. Her energy is renewed and she returns to working with Tasallir, finding she is much more composed than she was before. She isn’t fighting herself, she isn’t trying to shift herself. Her head is clear and she hums as she works, dressing Tasallir in much more daring fashions that excite Sylaise.

Serahlin is in rare, happy form, and pounces on her beloved whenever she has the opportunity. And there are many opportunities, in their bedrooms, the bath, the living room, kitchen…even Tasallir’s closet at one point.

Another month passes when suddenly her lady is in a tizzy over a new trend that has bloomed in Mythal’s corner of Arlathan. Or emerged from a boudoir more like.

A tailor in her area has apparently been dressing Thenvunin in these…dresses and has decided to come forth with her so called brilliance. Tasallir and Serahlin narrow their eyes at the design and scoff at the lack of…everything.

“Apparently the prostitutes of the pleasure district are suddenly fashionable, how nouveau,” she mutters carefully, passing the designs to Tasallir. He sniffs and his eyes widen in distaste.

“How can we call a lack of fabric fashion?”

“We can’t, but we can call it ‘Bedroom Chic.’” She murmurs back. Another attendant shushes them for the rest of the duration and they turn their attentions back to the blushing Thenvunin.

Wonderful.

A week passes and Thenvunin comes back to model the outfit that has inspired the theme of the next festival. It is…beautiful, in its way, with all its glittering gold ducks and…are those feathers? Really, Thenvunin? The ducks weren’t enough?

But the inspiration is there, the trend is set and the rest of them are doomed to style themselves as such. It is far from appropriate or decent, but she doesn’t blame Thenvunin – this trend came from a tailor, and judging by his blush, he had not intended for this to happen.

The entirety of Elvhenan has been tricked, she thinks, into believing this lingerie is actually evening wear. She wonders if Mythal has some sort of score to settle with Thenvunin and has decided that public humiliation will be his punishment, but no, she is genuinely pleased with the make of his gown, and oh goodness the feathers move.

She averts her eyes from his nearly bare ass and hurries to her own tailor to begin drawing up plans for her own…naked dress.

Over the course of the next several days, every tailor in Arlathan is inundated with new customers who are in desperate need of a dress to fit with the festival. She buys her tailor’s time generously and they come up with a…more respectable design than she had originally feared. And in actuality…she doesn’t look too whorish.

“Like a sensual shimmering goddess,” her tailor murmurs.

Perhaps she is right.

She works with Adannar and her tailor to draw up a suitable outfit for him and then the weeks fly by as she is thrown into styling Tasallir and three other attendants for the event. Where are _their_ stylists? Shirking their duties, apparently, and ending up in the pleasure district – for shame.

But she works hard and gets them all styled just in time for the festival.

She dresses with Tasallir, their tailors working to dress them as she flurries between him and the other attendants. Adannar is absent, but he has always preferred to dress himself alone, lest he gets distracted by all the people around him.

Serahlin checks herself in the mirror one last time before heading out with Tasallir and the others for the festival.

The dress keeps with the color scheme of golds, oranges, yellows, and with her signature dash of pink. It is a sleeveless number with straps that are built up with oval structures decorated with lilies in shades of orange and gold. The neckline is low, but not daringly so. It’s fitted down to just above her knee, with golden motifs of long necked cranes placed precisely over her breasts and nether regions. More lilies are then placed at the hem of her dress and delicate gloves with smaller crane motifs are added, alongside a gigantic ring that might as well be a lily dipped and preserved in gold.

A long necklace of pearls is added, wrapped perfectly around her neck. Her hair is curled, then pinned up and all to one side while more lilies are constructed into hair as a singular hair piece.

She is a gold dipped lily of finery and fashion, and she finds…she feels rather powerful like this. She is exposed but delicately fierce as well.

Interesting. She wonders if this is how Thenvunin felt in the bedroom…and how she can see the appeal of such a thing.

Tasallir remains more reluctant to the fashion in his cooler gold ensemble with accents of viridian green. His hair is up, and he is bejeweled spectacularly – breathtaking really – but there is the hint of a sour expression behind the polite gestures he is making.

They arrive at the festival, a glittering, shining event and she compliments Tasallir and those responsible excessively on another job well done. The attendants file back out after inspecting the space to tend to their lady. Serahlin moves about the space, perking the flowers up with a touch of magic here and there – her perennial green thumb always useful at these events.

Mythal, Sylaise, and their respective attendants make their grand entrance, enthralling of the elves in attendance. There is low clapping and joyous singing, magic flares up and around to fill gigantic spheres that shift from gold to orange to yellow back to gold like a dragon’s eye.

After all the pomp and circumstance around the entrance, Serahlin moves to find her vhenan. He must be around here somewhere, most likely in orbit around one of the refreshment tables. She makes her way to the far east table, not finding Adannar, but a certain former hunter instead. They are…pointedly looking at the table and at the wine, examining the quality and age with an attention that clearly indicates them trying to ignore something.

She joins them by the table and surveys the different cheese options.

“Thenvunin is particularly radiant tonight,” she says.

They uncork a bottle, “Yes, yes he is.” They pour themselves a…large serving. Her eyebrows raise slightly.

“It must be a great honor to have the fashion and theme be inspired from him and his requests of his tailor,” she tries again. Uthvir nods slowly and takes a long drink from their glass.

They don’t answer her in any other capacity and she wonders if she has done something to offend them. Perhaps her perfume is too fragrant? But no, she has worn much more fragrant and has not offended any.

She glances up to see Thenvunin smiling and nodding politely to one of the attendants she had dressed. He moves and the feathers move with him – revealing the barest hint of the curvature of his derriere.

Uthvir finishes the glass.

Oh.

“How is the wine?”

“Sufficient.”

Well, good.

She leaves the table and begins to make her rounds throughout the space, greeting various peoples at various stations.

She doesn’t find Adannar, though and winds back at the table next to Uthvir. A bottle has gone missing but she notes that Thenvunin doesn’t look debauched or flushed.

“Have you seen Adannar?” She asks them and they shake their head, pouring yet another glass.

“No. Perhaps he was thrown out like last time for his indecent footwear.” They mock.

“That is not why he left – the shoe broke and had stabbed him the foot. He had to visit a healer immediately.”

“And let me guess, you promptly put the cobbler out of business.”

She raises her head and gives a curt nod, “They were creating ill-made shoes and injured my beloved. Exactly what would you do if one of your husband’s many accessories suddenly stabbed him due to being ill-made? Would you not wish who was responsible to be punished?” They consider her for a moment.

“Fair enough.”

She turns around and raises herself just slightly to hopefully see him, but alas, he eludes her yet.

“Serahlin, I believe I found him,” Uthvir drawls, waving their hand in front of them at a particularly scantily clad man that…no, no it can’t be.

She has seen him throughout the night, barely dressed and has averted her eyes every time. But now Serahlin looks and it is all she can do to not flush in embarrassment and…admittedly arousal.

This is _not_ the dress she and her tailor had drawn up.

The floor-length gown is even more revealing than the initial sketches Thenvunin had provided, relying only on strategically small gold leaf motifs to cover himself. Though it is less covering than it is exaggerating his beautiful shape. He is shining and glittering every which way he turns, and she supposes the glare from his outfit helps disguise his body somewhat…but it is not nearly enough. The entire side of his body, from his ankle all the way up to the slope of his ear is bare for the world to see, while his bottom is…more framed than covered by the drifting leaf motifs. This of course does not compare to the fact that the dress is actually entirely backless.

Backless. And so low as that if he were to just…bend over, there could be a divot in his behind visible.

She cannot even tell if he is wearing the proper underclothes or…underclothes at all.

Her hand flies to her chest and a sharp nail clinks on her large ring, catching her attention. She turns her head, still stunned and flabbergasted. Uthvir hands her a glass filled with wine.

“You’re going to need this.”

Yes, yes she does.

She manages to stay away from her entirely tempting beloved for half of the night, sticking close to Uthvir who is thankfully sticking by her too. They can do it. They can…behave and not embarrass themselves or their loved ones by their insatiable urge to…to…

It’s best to not think about it.

She finishes another glass when Thenvunin approaches Uthvir with a dazzling smile. Oh no, no he can’t do this. She gives a concerned look at Uthvir, but they’re looking at their husband and being whisked away to who knows where.

Leaving Serahlin alone.

“Have you been avoiding me?” A soft voice asks from behind her. She turns around and her heart leaps into her throat. He is even more blindingly beautiful and alluring up close.

“Not for the reason you are most likely presuming,” she answers. His ears droop.

“But you are avoiding me.” His fingers twitch and move to fidget with the rings on his right hand. Her expression softens and she takes his hand.

“Follow me, my love, I will explain.”

She leads him out to a secluded area of the terrace and takes both of his hands in hers.

“My darling Adannar…I was not expecting you to arrive in such splendor, your beauty has caught me off guard.” She whispers.

He leans back in slight surprise and blushes as he picks at the sleeves.

“You like it? Thenvunin’s tailor found me while I was fitting one of Mythal’s people for a hairpiece. She said she had the perfect design for me, said I would look like I was covered in jewelry rather than clothes.”

“I love it, Adannar. You outshine everyone here,” she strokes his face with the back of her knuckle and he leans into her touch, his gaze suddenly turning hot as he surveys her own dress.

“I find that difficult to believe when you stand here…all gold dipped and flawless.” He touches one of the edges of the lilies on her shoulder, then drifts down to the pearl necklace.

“And what a beautiful necklace,” he teases. She touches the pearls and grins at him.

“Isn’t it? The crafter is piece of art himself.” She touches a gold leaf by his collar and his breath catches, his eyes flash, and he takes her hand.

“I saw a magnificent arrangement of ranunculus flowers earlier that I am sure you would love to see.”

“I would love to see that.” And with that, he guides her into the garden. They giggle and bump purposefully into each other, playfully hushing each other. Adannar stops her suddenly and kisses her the breath out of her. He pulls back with a smile and take her hand again, leading her deeper into the garden.

They stop suddenly when they hear something like…a moan? Serahlin looks around, suddenly feeling very exposed and guilty when her eyes settle on a pair of much more compromised elves.

Thenvunin is leaning heavily against Uthvir and only one of Uthvir’s hands is visible. Oh. She blushes and turns from them.

“I think this area is already occupied,” she whispers and Adannar giggles as they find their own spot to debauch.

Two weeks after the festival and she still blushes whenever she opens her closet to see the sinfully gorgeous dress Adannar had made. Really, what had she done to deserve such a wonderful, beautiful man?

She goes through her waking routine with a smile, glowing and happy and feeling absolutely amazing. Her work is pleasurable, Adannar and Tasallir are about to begin work on securing an extension for the time allowed to conceive, and she has a feeling that fuchsia is about to make a come back.

Serahlin practically floats over to Tasallir’s quarters, where they settle on a magnificent feathered coat and matching scaled belt. They move to his bathing rooms where he has all of his perfumes and such. There are several new bottles available, all containing this season’s best scents.

He selects the clear bottle and spritzes the air to sniff. The scent is…remarkably rich and exceptionally pungent. But Tasallir’s brow furrows as if he cannot smell it – then he sprays more.

Violent nausea suddenly rolls into Serahlin. Before she can even comprehend what is happening, she is bent over a waste basket, emptying her stomach.

Tasallir, equally horrified at the display and terrified for her safety, quickly calls for a healer then guides her to his fainting couch. There is suddenly shouting and fear permeating the air as servants and healers and Tasallir all buzz around her.

The entire wing of the estate winds up being awakened by the ordeal.

“Have all of her food and garbage examined. Speak to each of her servants, if there is an infiltrator we must expose them.” Tasallir is in fine form, standing by her side the entire time and giving the most amazing death stares at each and every person that is not her.

“Tasallir, I really don’t feel sick anymore, I –

“Don’t speak, I am taking care of everything.” He glares at the healer and she swears he’s going to start growling if the woman doesn’t work faster. “Are you inept at your duties or did your parent drop you on the head as an infant?”

“Tasallir!” Serahlin admonishes only to have him return his ruby glare to her.

“Be quiet!”

The healer looks up at him and rolls her eyes, “She’s not sick, calm down.”

“See, Tasallir? I’m fine!”

“She’s pregnant.”

Both Serahlin and Tasallir’s eyes widen and they respond together.

“I’m what?”

“She’s what?”

“Pregnant. As in there is a baby growing inside of your womb.”

Serahlin’s hand rises up to her mouth and in a fit of emotion begins to cry. Tasallir looks at her, then at her abdomen, and then back at her.

The healer sighs, “You should probably call off the palace wide search and alert.” Tasallir waves a hand and a servant runs out of the room to deliver the news.

“Adannar!” She gasps and lays a hand on Tasallir’s forearm.

“Darling Tasallir, my beloved needs to know. These servants and service people are knowing before him and it is unseemly.” She looks up at him beseeching and all of the anger and fear at the situation fades from his face. His lips twitch up into sweet smile.

“I’ll fetch him. And Serahlin…congratulations.” He bows out of the room, leaving her alone with the healer.

She rests back against the bed and smiles. Pregnant. Finally, blessedly pregnant. Her hand drifts down to her abdomen and more tears of joy slip down her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	4. Part 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvhenan setting and Tasallir belong to Feynite

Pregnancy is odd.

She feels radiant, resplendent in having taken the pivotal step in achieving her goal, full of hope that is all wrapped up in the budding life within her.

But there are…things happening inside of her. Some of these things she was prepared for, the heightened sense of smell, for instance, is cited in multiple accounts and she had plans for it. Tasallir graciously agreed to take all of the daring and downright offensive perfumes from her and keep them until the baby is born, which meant almost all of them. In the end, Serahlin is left with three perfumes – vanilla, coconut, and sunflower.

All of her scented lotions, _all of them_ , had to be stored at Tasallir’s as well – leaving her with one lotion. This demanded she had to go out and commission three more luxurious and scentless lotions. Just for good measure she spends extra for them to put gold flakes in it.

She wants her glow to be as literal and visible as possible. She is pregnant and happy – the entire world should know.

She also expected the slightly odd food cravings. Though raw cured meat is usually an unseasonal thing to desire, she gets the wonderful benefit of smiling, resting a hand on her abdomen, and saying ‘I’m pregnant, you wouldn’t deny a pregnant woman what the baby wants, would you?’

It’s a kind of power that she can get behind.

But there is one unexpected side effect.

Since the discovery of her pregnancy, she has put a pause on her work with Tasallir. The man of course was very understanding, if not a bit uncomfortable with the whole idea of her growing a person inside of her. And because of this, she now spent her time at home, gratefully preparing for the baby.

The books say that nesting behavior usually doesn’t begin until later in the pregnancy, but she has always been a bit ahead of the curve and starts as soon as she is able.

Her sleeping schedule shifts to a more normal timing, which means she sees her beloved more frequently. And seeing him more frequently has somehow turned into having sex with him more frequently.

Serahlin’s libido has never been this high. And she has no idea what to do with it other than jumping Adannar every time he walks through the door.

And he walks through the door a lot.

“Hello, love! You wouldn’t believe –

“Adannar,” she says seductively in one of the lingerie pieces she had secretly commissioned. His eyes widen and the breath leaves his body. She drops the gigantic feather coat, strides over and pulls him down to her.

“Make love to me.”

This happens on more than occasion.

She feels like she should be embarrassed, but then she stands naked and glowing in her full-length mirror and whispers,

“I’m pregnant,” and all the embarrassment flees her body.

Adannar is hardly complaining either, though he has requested for her to hold herself in the midday when he is in his ‘zone’ for working. She understands and finds herself investing in other measures to take care of the libido.

The increased sex drive lasts for about three weeks. It is heady, sexy, sweat-slicked and absolutely wonderful.

And then the fatigue hits.

And the weird mood swings.

She has the simultaneous urge to parade her glorious pregnant self out on the streets, and to lock herself in her rooms until the baby is here. The lack of control over her own body is as exhausting as it is exciting. Finally, pregnant and going to be a mother, but also pregnant and waiting to be a mother.

There is one day where she feels completely unable to remove herself from the bed, tired and feeling absolutely disgusting.

Adannar rises from the bed and dresses in a flurry, babbling on like he does. He bends down to kiss her only to notice she hasn’t moved.

“Vhenan? Is everything alright?” His hand is soft on her temple and in her hair. His yellow eyes are kind and searching and she feels awful for worrying him.

“I am simply not feeling like myself at the moment. Don’t worry,” she tries to smile convincingly but before she can even convince him that he really doesn’t need to stay, he’s climbing back into bed, wrinkling his perfectly good robe, wrapping his arms around her and resting his chin atop her head.

“Alright.”

“What are you doing?”

“Holding you until you feel better.”

“You have work and duties.”

“All of which can wait,” he says softly, nuzzling her ear and her hair. Her smile turns real and she presses back into him.

“I love you.”

“As I love you,” and then he’s kissing her, trying to chase all of the weird mood swings away.

The moods come and go, and the next week, Serahlin is grateful to find the energy and fortitude to take her usual tea with Tasallir.

Her stomach is still relatively small, but she dresses in a maternity dress anyways. While small, she finds her non-maternity dresses to be still too tight around her waist and hips. And with the changing seasons, she decides to don one of her more daring cloaks – a hot pink feathered thing that would normally be seen as a monstrosity, but in the suddenly gray hues of winter, becomes a refreshing beacon of color.

That and it is remarkably soft, comfortable, and can double as a blanket.

They meet at the palace gardens, the honeyed tea already prepared along with delicious little lemon cakes. They exchange perfunctory greetings before taking their seats at the table.

“Tasallir, it is so good to see you! I’ve missed you these past weeks.” She says politely, automatically examining his exquisite day-cloak and hair pins.

“Elgar’nan’s followers prove to be tacky and behind on the seasons.” He eyes her coat in return, “I don’t understand, you are on leave and having a baby and still manage to look more presentable than half of these inept people. It’s a travesty.”

Her hand falls onto her stomach and she clicks her tongue, “Their education will be quick, then, if they stand anywhere close to you.”

He makes a small noise and takes a sip of his tea, eyes drifting down to the swell of her stomach.

“It appears you have been busy these past few weeks, as well.”

“Oh yes, growing a person, bit by bit. I have it all scheduled, I’m working on the ears at the moment.” She teases, beginning to nibble on her lemon cake.

“If the baby has any sense, that ear is a copy of yours.”

“Oh, well, I haven’t grown the sense yet, so it may look like yours.” She giggles and Tasallir rolls his eyes.

“As if I would have a child,” he teases.

“Don’t worry, Adannar and I have done all the hard work – you can be fabulous uncle Tasallir.”

“Uncle Tasallir…I like that.” The rest of their tea goes swimmingly and they gab about the latest fashion trends, the faux paus, and of course the festival and commission plans their lady has requested. They talk about the various things she has been doing to prepare for the baby – organizing craftsmen to create toys, receiving gifts from notable people and writing the proper thank you cards. She assures him that none of the gifts have quite meant as much to her as the little clothes he had initially given her, and he preens at the attention.

Time passes and soon he is called away – some calamity involving a workshop and a commission pulling him to his duties once more. She bids him farewell and heads home herself to resume her own duties.

The first trimester passes surprisingly quickly. Though she supposes that with how busy she is kept with getting everything set up, and how Adannar wishes to finish one last batch of commissions before he takes his leave, it isn’t too surprising.

And as it is, the second trimester arrives with much needed relief. The books talk about how it’s the nicest period of the pregnancy, where the nausea dissipates, emotions stabilize, and she can maybe begin to eat normally again.

And they’re right. Her moods stabilize, her strong sense of smell backs off into a realm of normalcy and the nausea disappears with it. But a new sensation begins to take over.

Her abdomen aches as it stretches. In these moments she feels like her belly should be much larger than the slight bump that has now formed.

Her own little baby bump.

Her brow furrows as she inspects herself in the mirror. She hates that term, baby bump. The alliteration is tacky and entirely too cutesy. Adorable and cute have their places, but cutesy is entirely too much, even for her.

She wonders if she should commission a painter to capture her like this, completely nude. Tasteful of course and only for her and Adannar’s private viewing, but perhaps it would be nice to have this moment in their lives captured, after all it is rather fleeting in the scope of it all.

As her stomach expands, her hands find their way to it more and more, almost as if to reassure her it’s still there.

She is four and a half months along when another baby is found.

When she hears the news, she nearly faints. Her heart hammers erratically in her chest all the same as she can’t help but contemplate the horror of a child being just…abandoned like that. Adannar has to catch her and deposit her on the sofa, wrapping her suddenly chilled body in blankets.

Another child has been found. A little baby girl, abandoned and left for dead.

Tasallir has found her apparently, all alone.

Her arms come around her stomach protectively and she barks a little too harshly at Adannar to draw up fresh wards around the house. A little baby abandoned…hers is not even _born_ yet and the very idea of them being left outside…alone and scared and _abandoned_ is too much to bear.

When Adannar returns there are tears running down his cheeks. She says nothing, finding that there are no words to properly explain the emotions within her. Her hands reach for him and he joins her on the sofa, wrapping his arms around her, drawing her into his softer body. At first, she had been remiss to find that he had gained weight as a result of _her_ pregnancy, but now…she is grateful for the warmth and comfort his body provides as she buries her own face into his tunic and begins to cry.

When the initial shock and dismay at the abandoned child wears off, Serahlin begins to contemplate.

Their nursery is scheduled to be occupied, yes, but…it is not currently occupied. She tilts her head at the idea but quickly dispels it. It would be selfish of her to petition to have the child sent to her and Adannar when they are expecting their own so soon. And besides, the baby she is currently cultivating does not need to have any attention drawn away from them by this new baby.

Eyebrows come together as she realizes the potential risk of this child being around. Opportunities, competition….

But she shoves the thoughts and worries away. The babe is most likely to end up in the care of one of Elgar’nan’s people, contributing to the other evanuris’s people and not posing any risks to a future servant of Sylaise.

She pets her stomach all the same. And besides, what are the chances that the parents who adopt the girl are as highly ranked as she?

Slowly, Serahlin calms herself and heads out to tend to her garden, finding that if she keeps busy, she will worry less about such things.

When Adannar returns for the workshop later, he guides her out of the garden and into the bath. He climbs in with her and washes her body lovingly, lingering over the swell of her stomach, whispering about he is going to ensure their baby’s safety and prosperity. Her joyous and ever optimistic love has been worrying about this too, apparently.

Serahlin kisses him and assures him that there is nothing to worry about and lists all the reasons why they shouldn’t be worried. By the time she is done, he is once again smiling.

They are exiting the bath when Adannar’s ears twitch and the low hum or music rings throughout the house.

“Someone’s here…but it isn’t hostile,” Adannar murmurs and quickly dons a rob to go answer the door.

Serahlin dresses quickly herself, cursing her still wet hair as she tries to pull it up into a serviceable bun.

After she is dressed, she joins Adannar at the front to see Tasallir sitting on the bench outside of the house, eyes closed and lips pursed as if trying to conceal something….

Serahlin wastes no time in ushering him inside and insists he stay the night until he is well. Ire fills her once again when she hears of how Tasallir was treated for simply being a good citizen. As if he would ever do such a thing as harm a baby! She fusses over her friend until he retires and even then she worries about him. Eglar’nan’s interrogations have a horrid reputation for a reason.

She retires with a frown that Adannar is too eager to kiss away as he wraps himself around her once more.

“He is fine, love. It is normal procedure; they were just making sure.”

But her disquiet remains, “Normal does not always mean good.” She falls into a fitful sleep, worrying about Tasallir, the baby, and even her own child.

The morning brings with it the wonderful opportunity for Serahlin to dress Tasallir, providing a therapeutic sense of normalcy. But then he is gone with polite well wishes and gratitude and she is left to contemplate this new child in the world. Her hand rests on her stomach and she resolves herself to begin researching the best instructors for…everything.

Dancing. Manners. Painting. All sorts of crafting from metalwork to tailoring. She lingers on tailoring, and thinks of how lovely it would be for her child to inherit her love of clothes. But she moves on to find instructors for sculpting, and all manner of instruments. Violins. Pianos. Harps. Even instruments that unfortunately require the use of the mouth.

Her child will have the best opportunities, no matter what. A spell-binding baby is not going to change that.

The research takes days and contacting the instructors to ensure that they will tend to her child when she asks. It distracts her thoroughly enough that she forgets to feel stressed about the other child. Her focus is inward, and she presses forward with tending to her baby’s future.

She is so caught up in the plans and the contacts and appointments that when a flutter moves within her, she startles and looks around to see what had caused such an odd feeling.

But there is nothing but the gentle breeze rustling through the drapes and once more there is…a flutter in her. In her stomach precisely. Her hand comes over it and panic surges through her. What is this? Is something wrong with the baby?

Serahlin drops everything, dons a cloak, and rushes out the door to the nearest healers.

“Help! Something…something is wrong, I can feel it!” She exclaims, completely overtaken by the fear that this baby, this…little baby would be taken from her.

She is seen immediately, her stomach quickly exposed as healers begin to fuss over her. They blur and they’re not talking to her and she can only keep up with bits and pieces of their jargon. Her heart beats faster and she feels like she is about to explode when a spirit drifts into the room.

Its glowing form is vaguely elvhen and it moves to lay a glowing hand atop her face.

“What-

“Shhh,” it whispers and a wave of calm washes over Serahlin. She gasps and all the tension leaks out of her body.

“I am Serenity, be calm, all is well.”

“My baby…”

“Is fine, the child is simply beginning to move. It is normal,” it says. Her eyes widen and her hand begins to move over her stomach. The fluttering has stopped for the moment and she almost wishes it hadn’t.

“Oh.”

The spirit pets her hair for a moment more before leaving the room. The healers watch it go and then look back down at the now smiling Serahlin.

The door slams open and she looks up to see her beloved standing there, ruffled and appearing terrified. She reaches a hand back to take his.

“The baby was moving,” she explains softly.

“Oooh,” he says then promptly bursts into tears.

Serahlin shoos the healers out of the room to allow her a moment with her husband. She strokes his hair as he leans into the crook of her neck, his hand joining hers on her stomach.

“They moved?”

“They did. Perfectly healthy and normal.” She kisses the side of his face and slowly his tears begin to subside.

They walk home together, leaning obscenely close together for public, but she can’t bring herself to care in that moment. The rest of the night they spend trying to encourage the baby to move again, and sometime around midnight there is another flutter. Serahlin gasps and giggles and Adannar presses a teary, joy-filled kiss to her stomach.

Some weeks pass by in a blur of activity. The nursery is being completed, she is contacting all of the appropriate people who will be responsible for her child’s supplementary instruction, and she has begun to dedicate time to tending to the garden outside. It has woefully become overgrown since she dismissed the gardener after they made a snide remark about her now very pregnant looking self.

Her body is flawless, pregnant or no. And who insults a pregnant person’s body? She refuses to employ such tasteless people.

But by dismissing the gardener it does give her an opportunity to work with the beautiful flowers in full without feeling any sort of guilt.

The orphaned child does not cross her mind until much later when her lady returns.

The news spreads quickly enough, and considering how intertwined Tasallir’s and her servants have become, it reaches her doubly quickly.

Tasallir is to raise the child as his own.

Her blood chills, her breathing stops, and distasteful fear presses up against inside her. Her hand flutters to her stomach and her eyes close.

Every hope of logistics preventing that child from interfering with her baby is now dashed, gone with a single proclamation from her lady.

Tasallir is higher ranked.

Tasallir is much more favored by their lady than Serahlin.

Her lady is already so fond of the child as to take her from her father who is reportedly smitten with babies.

Her hand trembles and her lungs constrict.

“Fetch…my husband…” she grits out before she falls back onto the bench behind her.

As she waits, fear twists into more shock and then in betrayal.

How could he do this to her? He has to be aware of the implications of this. Of what this could do to her child. Lost and forgotten, doomed because of no fault of their own, but of circumstance.

It is a farce. She has climbed the ladder from being a stylist in the pleasure district through the entire ring of Sylaise’s attendants to Tasallir. She has courted and married a wonderful man. Has created a beautiful life and home for herself and remains one of society’s best regarded citizens. She obeyed every single protocol there is when it comes to this life.

Her child should benefit from that. And they were going to, but then a child, a random, unsanctioned child had to spring forth once more.

It was probably one of Falon’Din’s horrible followers, having an illegitimate child then abandoning it once they realized their folly.

And this child, raised by Tasallir…all the work she had done to procure those instructors, the tailors who were ecstatic to work with her on her baby clothes…

Tasallir and his daughter would take them.

She is to be left the second-hand choices and cast-offs.

Adannar arrives to find his wife not sitting and crying, but sneering at the peonies. She turns a hard gaze towards him.

“How could he do this?”

“Perhaps he had no choice –

“There is always a choice.”

But Adannar simply sighs and takes a seat by her, “You know that isn’t always the case. Crossing any of the evanuris is dangerous at best, deadly at worse. Would you rather him be dead for refusing our lady?”

She pauses to contemplate. Adannar’s eyes widen at the pause before she grits out a ‘no.’

“Serahlin, I am surprised at you. He has not done this to harm you or me or the baby, he has done this to protect himself and that little baby.” His hand rubs against her back in an attempt to calm her but she is a riot of horrible emotion.

“How can I work for a man whose child will invariably deprive mine of a good life?” She wonders. Adannar arches a brow at her and leans back a bit.

“Did you really think any child of ours would rest of their laurels and simply ride on our coattails? No, my love, our child will be, _is_ , amazing and will take the empire by storm. The found child has appeal, no doubt, she is a baby and they are few and far between that they become easily enthralling. But our child…they will be dazzling. And besides, they have us, and more importantly, _they have you._ ” He kisses her cheek and she just about bursts into tears herself.

But she shakes her head, “And they have you.” She repeats back to him, drawing his lips to hers.

His words are a balm to her soul but the fear still lingers in the back of her skull. Tasallir is not an overly vindictive man, but he will be aware of the threat Serahlin’s child now poses to his own and he’s a father now. He will feel some obligation to ensure his child’s bright future. He may even claim while he snatches opportunities from Serahlin’s child that his needs more because he is uncertain of her breeding. Who knows what defects could be present? Education and opportunities must be provided to compensate for any potential defect.

Adannar spends the rest of the day with her, comforting her as best he can. He assures her that all will be well, that Tasallir would not sabotage their child purposefully. But it being on purpose or not is hardly the point.

She falls asleep unsure of what to do, perhaps there is nothing she can do. What does she even want to have happen? For Tasallir to insist he not raise the child? For the child to end up somewhere she knows will be lesser and therefore less conflicting with her own? Serahlin quickly dashes those thoughts, that is horrible and wrong. The child has done nothing wrong, she doesn’t deserve to be punished for what has happened to her.

Except…

Why did this have to happen now? When she is expecting? Why could this not happen after her child had grown and would not pose this risk? And when she could have been properly happy and supportive of her friend becoming a parent.

He hadn’t even told her he was even considering raising the babe.

Sleep evades her all night and she rises before Adannar, removing herself to the kitchen. Her hair is loose, her clothes slightly rumpled, and once again what is supposed to be a beautiful and joyous time is full of doubt and worry. She tugs her robe closer to her body, still cold from the news.

Suddenly the house is filled with loud chiming and music – the wards have been breached again. Forgetting that answering the door while in this state so early in the morning is not a good idea, Serahlin heads to the front door. She opens it to find one of Tasallir’s servants standing there, rumpled and clearly only recently roused from sleep.

“Tasallir has requested your presence in his quarters at the palace, my lady.” The servant bows low and she arches a brow quizzically at them.

“At this hour?”

“It is the child, my lady, he seems to be having difficulty and requires assistance.”

Anger and resentment flood her anew. How… _dare_ he ask for her help at this hour. She is pregnant, busy building her own child from scratch. She is supposed to be asleep, and would be already if it weren’t for him and now he has the damn gall to ask for her to come help tend the child who will put her own out of work and out of favor?

“Tell Tasallir that this is highly inappropriate of him. To wake a woman in her fifth month of pregnancy to tend to _his_ child.” And with that she closes the door on the servant and walks back into the kitchen.

The baby moves and kicks her and she gasps at it. They don’t do much of that, a kick here and there, maybe some movement, but otherwise they’re a very calm baby. But now it seems they are happy to move and kick away as she struggles with her emotions.

How could he ask this of her? How could he…

He was her dearest friend and now she has been reduced to…this unstable pregnant woman who is apparently supposed to be at his beck and call to help him with his child?

_As if I would have a child._

His words echo in her head and she chokes back a sob. How did this get all…messy? She is supposed to be happy for the new life she is bringing forth, and in another world, another time, she would be thrilled for Tasallir. So why can’t she be right now?

“Who was at the door?” Adannar asks sleepily from the door to the kitchen.

“One of Tasallir’s servants.” She answer curtly.

“Oh…does he need help with the baby.”

“Yes, and I told the servant to inform him that it was entirely inappropriate for him to ask at this hour.” Her husband’s eyes widen and he looks absolutely stunned.

“Why would you say that? Vhenan, he’s your friend and he needs help,” he turns from Serahlin and heads back down the hall. Her brow furrows and she follows him to their room. He is changing quickly into decent morning clothes.

“What are you doing?” She asks incredulously. He can’t be doing what she thinks he’s doing.

“I’m going to go help Tasallir,” he says, leaning over to pull on boots.

“You are not!”

“He needs help, Serahlin! And I’m not going to stand by while you ruin your friendship over a wonderful thing!” He turns to her, pleading as he bends down to her. He takes her hands in his and pulls them to his heart.

“Have you considered that this could be an amazing thing? That our child won’t grow up alone? That they will have a little playmate just like them? They could be the best of friends, Serahlin. But you are letting your fear blind you.” He kisses her forehead and she shrinks from him.

“Vhenan…”

“Just go.” She is curt and cold and she doesn’t even need to look at him to know the hurt on his face. He reaches for her again but she’s already walking away.

Adannar leaves to attend to Tasallir and the babe, leaving Serahlin very much alone.

Her love and her best friend are incapable of understanding her upset. They refuse to see why this is not the amazing and wonderful thing they keep making it out to be. Sure, the children could be best friends. But Tasallir’s daughter could also use Serahlin’s child as a step as she climbs the ladder into Sylaise’s good graces.

Serahlin sits down with a book but her mind keeps wandering to the spat with Adannar and to the ache in her chest.

That damn child had managed to pull her best friend and husband away from her and –

Oh.

A blush overtakes her face as she realizes exactly what had been bothering her for the past day and a half. It’s not fear of his daughter outshining Serahlin’s child, there are a dozen scheduling options that she knows she can take to ensure this doesn’t happen. No, it’s…worse.

Jealousy.

She has been…jealous. Jealous of Tasallir’s ease of being granted parenthood. Jealous of the time that babe will get to spend with Tasallir. Jealous that the child had the ‘gall’ to arrive before her own. Jealous that her husband could see these things while she herself could not.

Oh how remiss she has been!

She gasps at her own lack of decorum and sets to work immediately.

Tasallir has no nursery, no books, no training, no _clothes_ for that child. And his life has been thrown completely out of order. He must be so overwhelmed and underprepared.

Serahlin first works to contact the people responsible for her nursery, and then gathers the books she has already read and those she has not but that Tasallir is in more immediate need of. She contacts her tailor and the tailor she had discovered for the children’s clothes and bids them that they come to her house tomorrow as soon as possible.

She spends the entirety of the day like this, blown into a tizzy and spurred on by her own inability to be there for her friend when he needed her the most.

Adannar returns later, looking exhausted and smelling of baby vomit. She kisses his cheek regardless and shows him the work she has been doing.

He hugs her and promptly bursts into tears.

The next day, the tailors and various craftsmen arrive. She dresses promptly and they all make their way over to Tasallir’s quarters at the palace.

The wards that Adannar clearly help set up and reinforce, chime, alerting her friend and daughter to their arrival.

A servant answers the door and faint screaming can be heard in the background along with Tasallir’s voice desperately trying to negotiate with the small child.

“Hello?” The servant, the same one from the other day, asks.

“Yes, hello, we are here to assist with the baby,” Serahlin says, inviting herself in. The servant’s eyes widen and they scurry up the stairs to Tasallir’s private chambers.

A few moments later and Tasallir appears at the top of the stairs in a surprising disarray. His hair is remarkably flat, face unpainted, and clothes already rumpled. His daughter clings unhappily to his outer robe, pouting and sniffling as he makes his way downstairs.

“Serahlin, Adannar…who are all these people? What are you doing here? This is highly irregular.” There are shadows under his eyes and the air around him waivers in uncertainty and exhaustion.

She holds up a hand and hangs her head in apology, “Tasallir, I have been a terrible friend to you. I should have helped as soon as I heard the news, should have been happy for you, but instead I have allowed fear and jealousy to cloud my senses. I am so sorry, Tasallir. Please, forgive me.”

There is a long, heavy pause between them where Tasallir simply watches her and then look at the people now standing in his home. His arms come around his daughter more securely as he positions her away from the strangers. She resists smiling at how quickly he has fallen into his role.

“You have not answered my questions.”

“Oh of course, this my tailor and the tailor I found who has experience constructing clothes for babies, I brought them so they could create the wardrobe your daughter is in dire need of. The rest of these fine people are here to construct you a beautiful nursery in no longer than three days. They were all integral to the construction of mine and are excellent to work with. You, of course, will choose a theme and we will all see to it that it is executed flawlessly. A daughter of the best deserves the best, and here it is. This,” she holds up a book, “contains all the names of proper healers, teachers and instructors I have found for my child that I suspect you will be in need of, as well as notes from various books I have read on child rearing.” She takes a deep breath to steady herself.

“I wish to help.”

Tasallir stares at her a moment longer before stepping forward and reaching towards her. She takes the cue and wraps her arms lightly around him, making sure to avoid skin to skin contact. Her cheek rests on his shoulder and while the angle is…awkward at best, with her larger belly and the baby between them, the emotion is clear.

“I am so sorry.” She says once more when they pull apart.

“There have been sufficient apologies. But it is time for you to be introduced to Isabela,” he looks down at the babe in his arms and smiles kindly at her, “my daughter.”

Serahlin smiles with him at the child and waves, “Hello, Isabela. I’m your Auntie Serahlin. Oh Tasallir, she’s beautiful, just like her Papa.” The baby coos and presses a hand up to her mouth and Serahlin can’t stop the little noises that begin to pour from her. Little Isabela is precious beyond words, with deep, mischievous eyes.

“Now let’s go see about making the nursery just as beautiful, hmm?”

They all head upstairs and into the room adjacent to Tasallir’s. There are two normal sized windows and already filled with the average guest room furniture. The room is emptied and the debate on what exactly the theme should be begins.

“What about an enchanted garden?” Serahlin suggests. Before Tasallir can respond, Isabela begins to cry and sniffle. Well, then, that idea is scrapped.

And most of the ideas are scrapped that way. The child is a bit…odd in how much she understands is going around her, but she knows her taste and Serahlin has to give her credit for that.

Forest themes, castles, skies, and even amazing creatures do not seem to thrill her, and Serahlin is reaching the end of her suggestions. There are only so many appropriate and in trend nursery concepts.

Adannar enters the room and inspects the rounded windows and the dimensions of the room. Isabela has continued to fuss, tugging at her father’s coat much to his consternation.

“What about a sea theme?” He suggests.

“We have already done a sea theme, Adannar,” Serahlin protests.

“No, no, not underwater but like…boats?”

Isabela stops fussing and stares wide eyed at Adannar. Tasallir looks down at the baby and then back at Adannar.

“Go on.”

“The windows are rounded, like on some ships and the dimensions, while not perfect for a captain’s cabin, could still work. Uh, you could put the crib here and have trunks for storage on that wall. You could have shelves for her books and toys that are hung by ropes. Sconces for soft light…. And we could have a mural on the wall with the windows, incorporating them to be looking out to sea.” Adannar is a flurry through the room, pointing and gesturing wildly as his creativity flows through him.

Isabela coos and wriggles, shoving her hands forward towards Adannar.

Tasallir pets her hair and nods, “It’s decided then, but I want a tasteful captain’s cabin! Soft blues and sun bleached woods, nothing dark and inappropriate!” He follows the designers and craftsmen out of the room and Isabela begins to cry again at her father’s insistence on a tasteful, baby-appropriate room.

Serahlin giggles and shakes her head, that little girl of his is going to push all of his buttons, but it’s clear how taken he is with her already. From how easily she rests against his arms and how willingly he touches her. Serahlin’s known him for hundreds of years now and their contact is still limited. She touches his face, does his hair, and they occasionally hug, but the contact is usually brief and only as much as necessary.

It warms her heart to see that he is able to be more physically affectionate towards his daughter. The books say that such physical affection is important for development after all.

Arms suddenly come around her waist, hands landing lovingly on her stomach. Adannar rests his chin on her shoulder and cuddles into her form.

“Have I told you how much I love you today?” He whispers. She giggles low in her throat and presses back against him.

“No, I don’t believe you have.”

“Oh, well then. I love you so, very, very, much,” he emphasizes his words with kisses to her shoulder and neck, earning him more giggles and small protests.

“We are in a baby’s room!”

“That hasn’t stopped us before!”

“Adannar!” But he seems very content to simply hold her and caress her stomach. The baby moves and kicks out. Adannar’s hand moves and makes a tickling motion.

“A father and an uncle, exactly how excited are you?” She teases.

“I don’t know, how excited are to be both an aunt and a mother?”

“Over the moon,” she leans back and presses her lips to his. Tasallir’s disgusted cough interrupts them and they pull apart, both blushing at being caught at such an inopportune time.

“Must you do that here?”

“I apologize, Tasallir.”

“Never mind, I need to use the facilities. Could you hold Isabela in the meantime?” Her eyes widen and she is nodding yes before she can fully process what’s about to happen.

Holding a baby. She didn’t think this would happen until her own child is born, but here she is, holding a darling child while she is carrying another. Fate certainly has an odd way about it.

Tasallir is slow and careful as he transfers Isabela into Serahlin’s arms, minding her head and bum. She wonders if he is aware of the little cooing noises he makes to keep her calm.

She is warm and soft in Serahlin’s arms, wrapped in blankets and clothed in plain, but well-made baby clothes. She is a restless one, though, her feet kicking every so often and her eyes always searching Serahlin’s face for something.

“Hello, Isabela. Yes, hello,” something overtakes Serahlin and she presses a kiss to the babe’s forehead. To think just a day ago she was resenting this precious bundle. This is not a curse for her child, but a boon. Another little one to be around, to play with – to learn from. And a little competition can be good for a person! Serahlin herself had a rival stylist back in the days when she was working in the pleasure district. That had only inspired her to work harder and to be more innovative.

Little Isabela is a blessing and holding her like this makes Serahlin feel even more ridiculous for having overreacted. Beautiful darling, with her dark skin and intelligent eyes, and her little round ears…. She’s perfect. No wonder Tasallir is so taken with her.

“I think I already love you, little one,” she murmurs. Isabela coos and reaches up to tug on Serahlin’s necklace. Good taste runs in the family, apparently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	5. Part 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tasallir and Venavismi belong to the wonderful Feynite and Elanna (Ana) belongs to the incredible lycheepit
> 
> Also, NSFW!

Serahlin and Tasallir sit at his dining table, leafing through his extensive notes on potential partners to raise Isabela.

Isabela is currently being entertained by dear uncle Adannar, who has in the past three days, managed to create a jeweled rattle that changes color every time she shakes it. The metal is enchanted to be soft and malleable and even soothing for her eventually aching gums, and the babe seems to be thrilled at her shiny new toy.

“What of Darathim?” One of Sylaise’s attendants, Darathim had been the first attendant Serahlin had dressed, and while he has remained on the lower end of the attendant rank, she remembers him fondly. But Tasallir’s face scrunches immediately in distaste and he shakes his head.

“Absolutely not. He sanctioned that monstrosity of a gift from Falon’Din, remember?”

Oh, right.

“Never mind, then. Oh, then perhaps Felana?” A renowned tailor in the pleasure district-

“Sacrificed two weeks ago,” Tasallir quickly explains and crosses her name out on the registry. Serahlin sighs and looks back in the ledger. So many names, so many people, and yet so few options.

Tasallir taps his finger against the page and turns to her, “What of your sister, Elvara –

“Absolutely not,” Adannar and Serahlin say together. There is a brief pause and Tasallir crosses out another name.

“What about Vena?” Adannar suddenly suggests from the sofa. Tasallir freezes and she can see the tension suddenly in his shoulders.

“How do you know Venavismi?” Serahlin questions. Her husband shrugs and continues to play with Isabela as he speaks.

“He stopped by the workshop the other day, he wanted a price quote on a full leg jewelry piece. He was very polite if a little full of himself. I inquired after him from some of my other well-connected patrons and found he is highly regarded, fashionable, has a protective but somewhat playful nature. He’s just a baby away from being a father.” Isabela makes a little noise that has Adannar making a little noise back at her. She reaches up and tugs at his hair, earning her a gentle ‘No, no, we don’t pull hair.’

Serahlin turns back to Tasallir who is still looking quite perturbed at the idea.

“It was just a suggestion,” she reminds him but he leans back and shakes his head.

“And who else is there? Telfanim? Darathim? A dead woman?” There is a panicked edge to his voice that hits Serahlin particularly hard. She rises from her seat and wraps her arms around Tasallir in a sweet hug. He stalls a moment before resting his head against her breast, leaning into her. His eyes flutter closed and peculiar display of comfort at the whole position.

Overcome with either her love and care for Tasallir or the pregnancy hormones, or possibly both, Serahlin strokes his hair slowly, humming a little tune her own mother used to sing.

After a while, he opens his eyes and reaches up to the hand in his hair.

“You are a wonderful father, Tasallir, and you will find another wonderful parent for Isabela.” She tells him.

“I am not meant for parenthood, Serahlin.” His voice is soft, low enough that Isabela cannot hear him. Her heart aches for him that moment, knowing that while physically mutable, he is not a man who changes attitudes and his life easily. And the opinions of others of him have certainly been of no help either.

“According to whom? Because I see a man, a beautiful and hardworking man, who is doing everything in his power to ensure the best for this little girl. I see a man who has turned his world, his perfectly ordered world, upside-down for her. Who asked people who knew who could help, to help. A man who will not settle for anything less than perfect for her. And is that not what a father does?” She asks him softly. He looks up at her with large ruby-red eyes and she is struck by how delicate and fine his features are.

“I…do work to ensure proper development.”

“And when you see her, how do you feel?” She prompts.

He waits for a moment and looks over at the sofa where Isabela is looking at him with big, dark eyes over Adannar’s shoulder.

His lips twitch. And twitch some more until he’s smiling at her. He lifts a hand and waves to her and she shoves a hand out to him.

“She’s my daughter,” he whispers and Serahlin smiles.

“Yes, she is.”

Tasallir quickly stands and makes his way to the couch and lifts a happily cooing Isabela into his arms. She latches onto him quickly enough, tugging at the myriad of necklaces around his neck. He lifts her up into a more suitable hug, resting his cheek atop of her head.

“Aba-a-ba,” she coos.

“A-boo,” Tasallir says back almost automatically. His brow furrows and he looks down at Isabela in mild shock.

“Heh,” she says with a smile and reaches back up at his necklace.

Adannar watches everything with a giant smile before he makes his way over to Serahlin. He steps behind her, kisses her cheek and wraps his arms around her. Or well…attempts to. His hands land on her stomach and rub the little baby that has taken to doing somersaults at random points during the day…and night.

An hour and a meal later, Serahlin and Adannar head home. They had helped Tasallir put the baby to sleep and then made their way through the near empty streets back to their house.

“That little girl is amazing, and Tasallir will get the hang of it,” Adannar is saying. She leans on his arm, her feet feeling heavier than normal.

“She really is! I am glad the nursery got finished so quickly, after that paint fumes disaster, I was worried that they would end up moving into our house until she is sixteen.” It had been disastrous. The artist painting the mural around the windows had neglected to use the proper fume absorbers and in a flurry of worry, Tasallir had ended up on Serahlin and Adannar’s stoop, holding a slightly wheezy baby.

After properly lambasting the artist and a visit to the healer, the fumes were taken care of and Isabela was deemed fit as a fiddle.

“You are a wonderful aunt and friend,” he compliments, earning him a slight blush.

“And you are a wonderful husband and uncle,” she replies, pressing a kiss to his cheek. And in a rare public display of affection, Adannar turns his head so that his lips slant over hers in a heated kiss.

They hurry to their home much more quickly after that.

Adannar waves his hand, bypassing their wards and making a beeline for their rooms. His lips return to hers as do his wandering hands. He tugs gently and carefully at her dress, knowing how it vexes her to have anything rip. But he is quick as he meticulous, disrobing her while managing to keep all of her jewelry on. He likes to her shine, he once told her, as he makes love to her.

They stumble into the bedroom and in their hurry pass a floor length mirror. It is only by coincidence that her head moves at just the right time to see a stranger in the room kissing her husband.

It takes her a moment to realize the stranger is her, covered in glittering silver jewelry, hair now pulled askew by his wide hands. Her body, once willowy and lacking any overly dramatic curves, is now _all_ dramatic curves. Her stomach, her breasts, her…ass. She turns slightly and her eyes widen at how big her butt has gotten.

Adannar follows her gaze and grins into her neck, moving his hand to lovingly grab at her ass.

“You’re so beautiful, irresistible,” he groans into her neck. He nips at the skin there and she gasps, continuing to watch them with rapt attention in the mirror.

But she’s pregnant, and there is an unavoidable amount of indecency in the act, not to mention the large hump now attached to her body…potentially…making…things…difficult.

“I’m…I’m pregnant, we….”

“I want to make love to you all night.”

His hands wander over her body, trailing heat wherever they go.

Well. That decides it then.

“Adannar,” she whispers, her arousal and desire quickly filling the air.

“Mmm?” He nips at her ear and a strained whine escapes her. It is a bit annoying how quickly he riles her and some part of her misses the hours upon hours of foreplay they used to engage in before even disrobing. How he would whisper dirty things to her whenever he passed her, too low for anyone to hear, but hot enough to strain her control.

But then again, there is a great appeal in how quickly he will reveal himself to her now.

She turns more fully to him with a wicked smile.

“Take off your clothes then take me to bed.”

He returns her smile and then gives her a slow, heated kiss that has her curling her toes in response. His hands move from her body to his clothes, slowly removing his belt and outer robe, then the long winter tunic and leggings with a simple wave of his hand.

“Careful with the magic, I don’t want it harming the baby,” she reminds him and he nods before nibbling a trail down her neck to her collarbone.

“Anything for my beloved wife and child.” He kisses down the slope of her stomach and the sensuality quickly shifts to loving and careful.

“Adannar,” she groans, threading a hand into his pale hair. Warm lips trail down over her hip and enticingly inward. She tenses, bites her lip in anticipation only to have him kiss down her thighs.

Such a tease, her love. Stoking her fire without ever actually touching said fire. She shifts her legs, widening her stance so that she is completely open to him. One of his hands remains firmly planted against her ass, kneading the soft flesh there, while the other finally moves to where she is craving.

Serahlin gasps at the barest touch.

“Is this where you need me, love? Where you want my kiss?” She can’t reply, his knuckle’s touch is light as a feather and yet so incredibly tantalizing.

He presses a biting kiss to her hip.

“ _Adannar._ ”

“Where do you need me?”

Oh, so they’re playing _this_ game?

She arches a brow at him before firmly gripping his hair. She guides him back to her heat with a firm, “Here.”

He chuckles before setting upon her with skilled enthusiasm.

Her head falls back as he licks, strokes, and sucks at her already oversensitive flesh. She hisses when he slips a finger into her and begins to slowly pump into her, working her into a drenched heat.

Her hips snap just the tiniest bit forward and he inserts another finger, stretching her. His thumb moves to join his tongue and he sucks her clit and, and,

“Oh, fuck, fuck, Addie, I –

She seizes around his fingers as white hot pleasure floods her body. She clutches his head against her, and keels forward.

Adannar yanks himself back and moves up quickly enough to stop her from falling. He somehow manages to keep a hand where she wants him, drawing her orgasm out as long as possible.

He kisses her hair, murmuring little praises of how beautiful and amazing she is, how he wants her make her feel good.

“You always make me feel good, don’t be ridiculous,” she says breathlessly. Her body is limp and warm, leaning into him heavily even when he staggers back slightly.

He removes his hand from her. Her protesting whine is cut short when he guides her to the table they have previously discovered is at the optimal height for such activities.

Small, pleasured sounds slip from her when she realizes what he wants.

“In front of the mirror?” She asks and he kisses her once again. She gasps as she tastes herself but presses close to him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders in attempt to be as close as possible.

He breaks away and they move so that the table is angled in front of the mirror and she positioned over the table, legs spread wide for him and hair tossed over her shoulder, allowing him full access to the back of her neck.

Her eyes return to the mirror, watching him as he nips at the clasp of her necklace, then drags his mouth down her spine. He kisses his way back up to nip at her ear.

There is a certain level of disconnect between her and the woman in the mirror. Her body is almost unrecognizable, with her wild hair, curving body, and so free of any magic. This woman is a natural, sensual being, ripe and according to her gorgeous husband, irresistible.

Serahlin has to agree.

Adannar’s hands move around to the front of her body, cupping her breasts, pinching and rubbing at her nipples. Her eyes flicker closed on their own volition while she basks in the sensation, only to snap open when she feels his cock slip up against her ass.

A hand wanders away from her breast and down back to her sex, fingers slipping into her, judging and teasing her.

“Adannar,” she half pleads, half demands. He kisses her cheek.

“Need to make sure you’re ready, love.”

So attentive, her husband.

Apparently satisfied at her ability to accept and rock back on a third finger, he pulls back and guides himself into her. She hisses at the slight stretch, watching in rapt fascination as his cock disappears into her.

Her breath catches in her throat and she keens forward.

“Mo-moment,” she breathes, needing just a second to adjust. He holds her and caresses her body with hands and lips while she slowly shifts and swirls her hips to test herself.

“Aaaah…Serahlin, Serahlin,” he presses kiss after kiss to her shoulders. Satisfied at the lack of discomfort she grins and thrusts back on him.

“We’re good.”

He groans and begins to slowly move in and out of her. It is a good pace, nice and sweet, something Serahlin would normally love. But the woman in the mirror isn’t satisfied with sweet and slow.

“Harder,” she whispers.

“What?”

“Harder!” She thrusts back on him again to emphasize her point.

“Oh-ah!” He thrusts back into her, harder and perfect, making her grip the edge of the table.

“Yes, like that.”

He thrusts into her again. And again, still slow but it spreads out the burn to the point where she cries at every snap of his hips. She struggles to keep her eyes open to watch his cock disappearing and reappearing from her.

Serahlin growls for him to go faster.

Her husband is eager to do as she bids and angles himself to fuck her faster. The cries don’t even stop this time and her eyes close, losing herself to the sensation of him moving in and out and in and out.

His hands grip her hips, holding her still as he finally fully lets loose and truly fucks her. She gaps and squeals, so close, so close when he returns his hand to play with her again.

Serahlin screams, pulling herself forward and off the floor as she comes.

“Yes, Serahlin, like that, yes, so beautiful, I’m aah-ah,” his hips stutter and then he hilts himself as he comes inside her.

He slumps against her back, sweat slicked and amazing, as they come down from their highs.

They look very nice in that mirror, she thinks, but rather uncomfortable too, with the edge of the table jabbing her in the stomach.

“Adannar?” She asks softly. He grunts in response, and she wonders if he’s seriously content enough to fall asleep like this.

“Bed?” She asks this time.

“Uh-huh,” he pulls back and out then guides her into their bed. He wraps them up in the blankets while she wraps herself around him.

He is warm and soft and absolutely perfect. She looks up at him and smiles before guiding his face down to hers for a long sweet kiss.

“I love you.”

“Mmm, I love you too,” he replies sleepily.

They wake up late in the morning and Adannar is quick to usher her into the bath while he makes breakfast. She almost tugs him in with her, but she knows that they will end up spending hours in the tub, getting hungrier and hungrier if food isn’t acquired. As it is, he doesn’t take long to put together a meal of fruits, cheeses, and breads. He feeds her on the edge of the bath and they giggle like teenagers while the rest of the world falls away for at least a little while.

The warm water and various oils help ease the aches and pains of pregnancy, while Adannar eases her fears with kisses and positive affirmations about the day.

“What time should we go over to Tasallir’s?” He asks then promptly pops a grape into his mouth.

“After we dress, I want to discuss something I read about in one of the journals. Apparently, a few thousand years ago, it was fashionable to throw a party for expecting parents and guests would bring baby care items for them. Doesn’t that sound perfect?” She suggests. It occurred to her late last night when the baby had woken her up, and she had been sure to write the idea down. Upon further deliberation, she came to the conclusion that this was precisely what he needed.

“That does sound like fun…but who would we even invite?”

“The brilliant part of this is this way we can have the baby meet all the potential co-parents for him! From Venavismi to…well anyone he is considering. Which at the moment is…tied between six people I think.” There would need to be a lot of planning for it all to work, but she could throw it here at her home so she doesn’t have to put him out, plus there is already a crib and a fully stocked nursery just in case Isabela needs to take a nap or be removed from all the people.

Excited with her plan, Serahlin quickly left the bath and began to dress. She even took the extra time to paint her face and put her hair into a slightly more intricate style than her normal pregnancy style.

They arrive at Tasallir’s home to find it amazingly quiet. Tasallir greets them at the front and gestures for them to be quiet while he leads them to his parlor.

“Is everything alright?”

“She’s sleeping, _finally._ ” He looks positively exhausted, with shadows under his eyes and still in his night robes.

Sympathy runs through Serahlin and she looks briefly back at Adannar before making her decision.

“Go sleep, Tasallir. Adannar and I will tend Isabela,” she offers.

“You do not have to do that.”

“But I want to, please Tasallir, you are not helping anyone by being sleep deprived.” She guides him to his private chambers and helps into bed, assuring him that his daughter is in good hands. She does not mention the party she wishes to throw or anything else that may keep him from sleep. But she does sing a little lullaby to him, soothing him into hopefully a restful sleep.

She returns to the parlor and is able to put together a small guest list and create a gift registry before Isabela begins to cry. She leaves Adannar with the planning materials and quickly makes her way to the nursery.

The air is thick with despair and fervent fear that has Serahlin gasping in distress. She immediately picks the small babe up and clutches her to her chest.

“Oh little one, shhh, do not be afraid, I am here, I am here.” Is this how she wakes up every time? With fear and despair? No wonder Tasallir is so distraught!

Serahlin rocks Isabela slightly and strokes her hair, humming instinctively to help calm her.

It takes several minutes, but eventually the cries die down to sniffles and quiet tears. The despair and fear are gone but another dark emotion remains and makes Serahlin reluctant to relinquish her just yet.

So instead, Serahlin journeys back to the parlor with her.

Adannar beams at the sudden presence of his wife and niece and immediately rises to great them.

“Hello, darling. Oh don’t be sad, we’ve got you, shhh,” he coos, petting her head.

“She was so upset when she awoke, perhaps a nightmare?” She whispers.

“Perhaps, I hear that the other children like her also experienced troubles when sleeping.” Adannar suggests while he continues to make funny faces at Isabela in attempt to cheer her up.

“I’m going to make her a hat.”

“Adannar, you can’t absolve every bad emotion with gifts.” But as soon as he suggests it, the air lightens and lets out a coo. Serahlin shakes her head. This child is going to be so spoiled by her husband.

They all sit down once more and resume planning, getting distracted more than she cares to admit by the girl in her arms. At some point, Serahlin and Adannar take to asking Isabela for her opinions on everything from gift requests to color preferences.

“Soft pink?” Serahlin asks hopefully, but Isabela makes her sourpuss face and does away with that.

She prefers navy and red, but the red is acceptably replaced by a cheery orange. A more uniform nautical theme, then. Serahlin adds a crisp white to the color palette with only some trepidation, but she makes a note to ensure that white is not the main color in the clothes people wear, there is a baby, white is a target for all sorts of messes.

Adannar sketches out the little cap he wants to make Isabela. It’s more of a wrap since he isn’t actually a hat maker, but Isabela seems excited about it all the same, especially with the sapphire and gold beads additions.

But Serahlin can’t bring herself to be too cross with him, it has helped her cheer from her unfortunate nap after all. Plus, Serahlin is getting valuable baby cuddles out of this – all is well.

It is several hours later before Tasallir comes downstairs, looking radiant and perfect with his hair properly washed and styled and fresh robes. Isabela is the first to notice him and she reaches out with a hand.

“Daa,” she coos and Tasallir’s entire face lights up in a way Serahlin has never seen before. He practically glides across the floor and lifts his daughter into his arms.

“Good afternoon, daughter,” and he hugs her. She tugs on his necklace.

It is another hour before Tasallir is able to settle down at the table with Adannar and Serahlin. He looks at the papers strewn about the table and seems to immediately fall into his manager self.

Serahlin sets to explaining the entire idea: of throwing him a small party to procure all these things for him while examining potential parents for Isabela, that of course nothing was finalized so if he doesn’t want to do this, they don’t have to.

He pauses for a moment and turns to his daughter then looks back down at the guest list, the gift registry and nods.

“This sounds appropriate. When are you planning to have this accomplished by?”

“By month’s end, Isabela needs another parent as soon as possible, seeing as I don’t know how much longer Adannar and I will be able to help you.” She speaks honestly and he nods, and quickly begins making vetoes about the style. She amends it and makes more suggestions, and soon Adannar is taking Isabela again, measuring her head to see what will fit her.

At some point before dinner, Isabela has another bout of despair and falls quiet. There is no clear indication of what caused the episode, but Tasallir is quick to take her to his arms and snuggle her through the unease.

He quickly claims that he does this because it is the most efficient way to dispel the moods.

The next two and half weeks pass in a blur as Serahlin curates the guests for what she is now calling the Baby Shower, since Tasallir and Isabela are to be showered with gifts.

She is walking through the city with Adannar on another trip to procure proper dishware for the soiree when Adannar stops short.

“What is it, darling?”

He makes a private indicative gesture towards a small woman wearing Mythal’s vallaslin inspecting a modest dish set.

“Elanna? What about her?” Serahlin asks. The scout is not wearing anything particularly intriguing nor is she doing anything noteworthy, simply examining forks, and yet her husband is fixated on her.

“I recognize the earrings she’s wearing. Venavismi commissioned me for them,” he whispers. Serahlin freezes and lets out a hesitant breath. This could complicate things. How serious is it between this woman and Venavismi? If he is picked as Isabela’s other parent, will she be spending a lot of time around the babe? If so, she should be inspected to ensure that she will not negatively impact the girl’s development.

“Follow my lead,” she instructs her husband and makes her way to Elanna. The woman startles and straightens at seeing Serahlin. Her eyes immediately dart down to Serahlin’s stomach but brings them back up to Serahlin’s face in a polite amount of time. Hmm, good, at least she isn’t completely classless.

“Serahlin, Adannar, what a surprise.”

“Elanna! It is good to see you,” Serahlin beams, which seems to offset the woman.

“It is? I mean, it’s good to see you too.” The mid-ranking elf tries for a polite smile and Serahlin continues to inspect her. Would she be suitable to be around a baby? Two babies really, since Isabela and Serahlin’s child will most likely be raised side-by-side. She is pretty, Serahlin supposes, a little on the small side and covered in freckles. She can see that her skin trends towards redness and potentially dryness, but her hair is acceptable and she has good eyes.

She is…sufficient, if provided better access to better skin-care regiments. And she wears the earrings well. A straight back carries her and she isn’t backing down at all. Good.

Serahlin smiles back at her and gestures to the earrings, “I saw my husband’s handiwork and had to see it up close, I hope you don’t mind.” Surprise looks good on Elanna and she turns her ear to show the exquisite little thing. It’s simple, with a single small diamond on each, but of course Venavismi had to be careful not to over embellish it, can’t have Elanna breaking the rules of what she can wear of course.

How forward-thinking of him.

“You are friends with Venavismi, yes?”

“Yes,” she says with a hint of question.

Serahlin gives it another moment of contemplation, “Ask Venavismi about this little party I am throwing for Tasallir, and tell him to bring you. It was good seeing you Elanna, and I look forward to seeing you at the party.” And with that she pats her husband’s arm and they walk away, leaving the scout suitably stunned and confused.

She leans up to Adannar, “How serious would you say Venavismi is about this woman?”

“He hasn’t bragged about her and yet gave her the earrings, and she calls him a friend,” Adannar trails off and she smiles. Well, then.

The days go by and soon the day has arrived: Tasallir’s baby shower. There are boat and anchor motifs strewn about the common rooms of Serahlin and Adannar’s home and there are a handful of servants still mulling about, getting everything in order. Tasallir, Adannar, and Serahlin have been passing Isabela around between them all day to get things in order, and soon the first guest arrives.

Atarla, a punctual diplomat arrives with a beautiful swing for Isabela. But her voice is shrill and ends up bothering Isabela to the point where the babe refuses to be held by her.

Next to arrive is Halin, a tasteful morning attendant that Tasallir is very familiar with. They are bright and bubbly, but faint when Isabela spits up on them, and they refuse to be properly reconciled afterwards. They leave before appropriate.

Ghilamin is a well-regarded resource manager who had been Tasallir’s contact in the board in getting Serahlin approved for parenthood. And it looks like they want to cash in that favor now. They fawn over Isabela, complimenting her and her father, but begins to regard Serahlin and Adannar with less than favorable eyes.

“She will surely beat out all competition,” they coo at some point. Tasallir, offended plenty on Serahlin’s behalf, takes his daughter from Ghilamin’s hands.

“Pitting family against each other is distasteful,” he hisses.

It is an amazing relief when Venavismi arrives with Elanna. They have brought two gifts, including a beautiful blanket that when laid flat looks like the sea. Isabela wriggles in Adannar’s grasp, demanding to be set upon the thing immediately. Where she lands on it, there are simulated splashes. She giggles and moves herself around on it happily.

“She loves it,” Serahlin coos and makes a mental note to acquire something similar for her own baby once they arrive.

“I’m so glad! I admit I’m not all that familiar with children,” Elanna says, surprising everyone but Venavismi in the room.

Serahlin arches a brow at her and smiles, “You bought this?”

Elanna nods, “Yes, I know someone who works for Dirthamen and has access to this kind of material and it was just a matter of asking and transferring the money to get it. I’m glad she likes it! Oh look at her go!” Isabela has flopped onto her stomach and has taken to pulling herself along the blanket in an almost crawl.

“You have good instincts,” Adannar compliments. This makes Venavismi beam and wrap an arm around the small red-head.

“Isn’t she great? Taz! Great party, are those shrimp puffs?” He reaches over and pops a puff into his mouth, moving just so that it suddenly becomes very obvious he isn’t wearing any leggings and but is wearing an almost obscenely high cut dress.

“Are you incapable of dressing appropriately, Venavismi?” Tasallir huffs, moving to shield his daughter from the impropriety of Venavismi’s thighs.

Venavismi shrugs and smiles as he looks down at himself, “If the baby doesn’t need pants, why do I? And speaking of the baby….” The man darts around Tasallir and scoops Isabela up into his arms. She squeals in excitement and latches onto him, tugging at his oversized hair clip. His hair comes tumbling out of his usual pony tail and covers Isabela.

“Oops!” Venavismi laughs and tosses his locks back. Isabela holds the hair clip and shakes it before shoving it into her mouth. There’s a sudden cloud of frustration about her, making Venavismi’s brow furrow.

Serahlin watches the entire exchange with interest, smiling when Elanna moves to Venavismi’s arm to inspect the babe. Tasallir wants to intervene but she takes his hand and gives her head a quick shake.

“Serahlin, he is…”

“A good counterbalance. And the woman with him, Elanna, makes him sweet, watch,” and they do. Venavismi’s face softens when she touches him and he reaches up to help Isabela with the hair clip. Elanna makes a face at Isabela and the air eases once again.

When Serahlin looks back at Tasallir, he is less concerned and more resigned.

“I am going to raise a child with Venavismi,” he mutters.

“That you are,” she pats his hand and walks back out to attend to the guests.

One by one they file out until only Venavismi and Elanna remain. Serahlin and Adannar had successfully ran interference all afternoon to make sure the two had spent as much time with Isabela as possible, and the verdict is in. Isabela likes Venavismi and Elanna the most and while Tasallir is more than a little defeated about it, he isn’t about to deprive his daughter of good parents because of his own personal taste.

It’s rather big of him, Serahlin thinks.

Now, she and Adannar have taken Isabela to the nursery to put her down for a nap while the grown-ups discuss. She sings the little girl to sleep and activates the little mobile set above the bed. Little fishes twinkle and swim around while playing soothing music.

When they come back out of the room, Elanna’s face is bright red and Venavismi is grinning.

“You want me and Ana to be your co-parents?”

Tasallir takes a breath, “Yes. The other candidates have proved to be insufficient. And my daughter seems to be fond of you, both of you. I would like to move forward with petitioning both of you becoming her co-parents.”

There is a pause and Elanna, or apparently ‘Ana’, brings her hands into her lap, “Do I have to put my name somewhere?”

And so it begins. The paperwork is dense, intricate, and Tasallir must explain every single nuance to it. Vena argues on where to raise Isabela, but it is finally decided with Adannar and Serahlin chiming in that they all have to live here because Isabela is already established here, even if Vena’s apartment is technically larger.

There are three bedrooms in Tasallir’s apartment, with a spare room, that they decide will be turned into a bedroom, but then that turns into an argument between Ana and Vena. Vena says that he should take it, but Ana is adamant that she should.

Tasallir wonders where he will put his clothes now that the spare room is going to be occupied.

Adannar places his hand on Serahlin’s lap and she looks up at him adoringly. Oh she is so glad she has him, her own vhenan, automatic parent to her child. He smiles at her and leans his forehead against the top of her head.

Ana, Vena, and Tasallir continue to argue and discuss all the finer points of raising a baby but Serahlin begins to wane. She is…exhausted. Her swollen abdomen feels particularly heavy and when she leans against her husband, all of that exhaustion comes crashing down on her. She helped Tasallir find parents for his daughter, she threw a party, she’s growing a person.

She dressed four people today: herself, Adannar, Tasallir, and even Isabela.

Adannar is so soft, did she dress him in this soft fabric? Wow, she is good.

She isn’t even all that aware of falling asleep when she is suddenly being prodded awake.

“Serahlin…Serahlin.” That’s Tasallir’s voice…why is Tasallir waking her? She raises herself up and Adannar suddenly slumps forward after her. Oh. He fell asleep too.

“Oh Tasallir, I am so sorry I fell asleep.”

“No, don’t be, you’re pregnant and it is late. I woke you to tell you that we are leaving so you can sleep.”

“Are you sure? You can stay if you need,” she offers, slowly urging Adannar to wake. But Tasallir is quick to shake his head.

“I’ll be fine. Venavismi already has Isabela,” he explains and she nods.

She walks him out and he gives her a rare smile.

“And thank you, Serahlin. You have been an invaluable help.” She pauses on the stoop and takes another chance by wrapping him in another hug.

“You are my dearest friend, Tasallir,” she whispers. His arms come around her in response.

“As you are mine.”

“You have friends?” An over exaggerated voice sounds from behind Tasallir. Vena stands on the veranda nibbling on a banana with one hand while holding Isabela to his chest with the other.

“Unlike some people,” Tasallir shoots back. Serahlin taps her friend’s shoulder in goodbye and then he is off, quick to take Isabela from Venavismi and heading back to his apartment.

Serahlin closes the door and her thoughts quickly turn to sleep.

Bed. Soft with beautiful sheets and perfect pillows and a wonderfully naked Adannar.

It takes a while for all the proper paperwork to be processed, and there is the added complication that Elanna works for Mythal and not Sylaise. But it is easy enough to get her services temporarily transferred until Isabela is grown.

Venavismi has his things transferred to Tasallir’s apartment in short order, and then Ana’s things arrive.

The apartment is fit to burst by that point and the adults soon begin to feel the cramped space.

More paperwork is drawn up to expand Tasallir’s apartment into the one next to his. It’s luckily recently unoccupied and Sylaise sees no reason why the newly expanded family shouldn’t have the extra space.

And as much as Serahlin wants to continue to help with all of this, especially with the design aspects, she grows more and more exhausted and finds that she barely has enough energy to dedicate to her own continuing preparations for her baby.

Tasallir and the others are understanding of course. Tasallir even begins to offer to help her now that he has help with Isabela and he can actually divide his time.

And in time, things begin to come together and ease her mind about bringing a baby into the house. All the sharp edges have been banished, toys have been procured, as have all the instructors, healers, and everything from blankets to strategically placed baby furniture.

And half-way through her eighth month, she sits, feeling something like a beached whale, on her sofa, reading. The house is quiet, Adannar is finishing his last commission for the next year, and Tasallir’s family is at his apartment.

She has the distinct feeling that this is her last quiet moment for a very long while. She pauses in her book and reclines her head back. She is going to enjoy this silence, keep it close to her heart when the baby wakes her in the middle of the night screaming.

Quiet.

The baby shifts in her and delivers a swift kick into her ribs.

“AH!” She grunts then tries to will the pain away. She is not going to miss _that_ for certain. Serahlin rubs her now huge stomach and wonders how much longer this baby really needs. It certainly feels like she has reached maximum capacity with this, every day brings with it a new sense of being stretched and being exceptionally large.

She really misses being able to walk normally. And eating normally! And not having to use the toilet every five minutes. Not to mention the weird bowel movements, gas, and never feeling like she is completely clean.

She hasn’t had sex in four months. She hasn’t felt right for it. And it’s not like she is an overly sexual person, but she would like to be able to make love to her husband when she wants and without feeling like an odd, stretched balloon.

Pregnancy is tiring above all. And gross. She has never been this gassy, this unclean, this sweaty – she is hot _all the time._

And in that moment, waiting three more weeks like this, huge and uncomfortable, seems just about the worst thing ever. Alright, that’s dramatic.

But she’s heavily pregnant, she gets to be a bit dramatic.

She wonders how Uthvir felt in those last few weeks. She can’t imagine they particularly liked not being able to move like the lithe hunter they are. She wonders if anyone who has ever been pregnant has actually enjoyed the last couple weeks. Maybe this way it motivates the person to actually push the baby out, otherwise, who would subject doing that to themselves?

And now she has to pee again.

Serahlin huffs and hauls herself off the couch, only for another pain to lance up her back and wrap around her pelvis.

Her breathing deepens and slowly but surely, the pain backs off.

False labor, that’s what this is. Some of the books mentioned that.

She takes a step forward, then another, and makes it all the way to the privy to empty her bladder when another pain hits her.

When it passes she thinks that maybe this isn’t false labor, but actual labor. Alright. This is what her body is made to do, she tells herself.

Babies can be born at thirty-seven weeks; it isn’t too horribly early…but it is still early. And early babies are at a higher risk to have under-developed lungs. And under-developed lungs can lead to breathing problems and babies have to breathe because if they don’t breathe, they don’t oxygenate and if they don’t oxygenate they, they, they….

This has to be false labor; it has to be. She can’t have a baby with under-developed lungs that do not oxygenate her small child.

“It…is…not…time…for you,” she grits through another wave of pain.

But she begins to time the contractions, which is what they are, and they’re steadily getting closer together – slowly but surely. And her husband is still at work. The baby isn’t supposed to arrive for another three weeks.

Appearance for once be damned, Serahlin sets out to his workshop, using the deep-breathing techniques the healers taught her all the while cursing too small of holes for too big of packages.

She flings the door open and steps down into the space. Adannar sits at his little table with his gloves and goggles on, slowly fixing a jewel into a flower setting.

“Adannar…” she says, low and rasping. He looks up immediately.

“Vhenan?”

“I need you to get the healers.” He scrambles up from his table and quickly guides Serahlin to their room, urging her into the bed.

“No, no, walking…I need to walk, my water hasn’t broken yet.”

“I will be back soon,” and then he is off, running as quickly as he can to fetch the healers that she is hoping she doesn’t actually need.

But the contractions continue, and about ten minutes after he leaves, her water breaks.

Serahlin lets out a heart-broken sob, the baby isn’t ready, she isn’t ready, the sheets in the bassinet are wrong, they’re closer to turquoise than teal, and –

“Vhenan! I’m back and I have the healers and Tasallir!” Four elves suddenly enter her room and she just about collapses from the intensity of another contraction.

“Your labor appears to be progressing quite quickly,” one of the healers note.

Serahlin looks over at Tasallir, “What are you doing here?”

“I was buying squash for Isabela when I saw your husband running through the streets. I cannot just leave you to do this by yourself.”

“She’s not alone, Tasallir,” Adannar says as he quickly helps Serahlin out of her robes and into the birthing the robe they had made.

“That is…not what I meant. I mean, I do not wish, that is…it would be unseemly of me as your dearest friend for me not to be here.” Tasallir insists.

“Tasallir, I love you, I want you to be a part of my baby’s life, but I don’t really want you to ever see my vagina, because if you stay in this room, you are going to see my vagina at some point, and I am just not okay with that.”

But even with the dreaded mention of her genitals, he stalls, stubborn as always.

“I will call you in as soon as the baby is born,” she tells him.

Finally, Tasallir sighs and nods, “I will wait in the parlor.”

Once Tasallir is gone, Serahlin is moved into the bed with Adannar sitting behind her. He is a soft anchor for her as the contractions seem to take ahold of her body.

The labor, according to the healers, is quick. But the three hours feel like a life time. She screams, pushing, and pushing, squeezing Adannar’s hand to the point where she is afraid she is about to break his hand and –

“Ahhhh!” There it is. The pressure is gone, instead it’s moving slickly out of her in a great rush. The healers ‘oooh’ and ‘aaah’ and are saying things but all she can focus on is that fact that her brand new baby isn’t crying.

“Oh a beautiful baby boy –

“Shut up, why isn’t he crying? His lungs, what’s wrong with his lungs?” She demands, which seems just enough prompting from the babe to begin screaming.

Beautiful, beautiful screaming.

She shoves her arms out, demanding that he be placed in her arms, naked and squealing and oh, he is the most perfect thing she has ever seen. All pink and squished and warm.

Adannar sobs quietly behind her and reaches forward to pet his son’s head.

“Hello, hello,” he says over and over again while Serahlin just stares at the most perfect face in the world.

He may still be covered in amniotic fluid and mucus but she is resistant to having him taken away.

“It’s to clean him, he needs to be cleaned and you need to deliver the placenta,” the healers urge the babe out of her arms and she begins to cry.

“Adannar, make sure he’s fine,” she tells her husband. He quickly removes himself from behind her and follows the babe to the table.

The healer coaches Serahlin through the afterbirth and gathers the placenta for them, just in case the babe sickens.

The other healer begins to clean her, which is admittedly a very strange feeling.

“Adannar, the baby,” she asks and he turns back to her, bringing a freshly swaddled baby to her.

“Here he is,” Adannar’s arms are shaking and tears continue to fall down his cheeks but his joy and excitement are omnipotent. She hasn’t seen him this happy since their wedding day, and honestly, she hasn’t felt this happy since either.

She looks down at her son and a tear falls down her own cheek.

“He’s perfect.” He really is, with his pink skin, small nose, and a tuft of cream colored hair. His eyes open, dark and still undecided but she is certain that whatever color they will be, they will be perfect. As perfect as he is.

Her son, after over three long years, she has her baby. The room, and her heart, are no longer empty.

Serahlin presses a kiss to his head and feels the world fall into place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! <3


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